The Most Cliched Phantom of the Opera Fic Ever
by DestinysGlitter
Summary: As a child, not one, but two mysterious beings visit Christine at the opera. After meeting her soulmate, a curse is put into place that makes her live out five different versions of her life.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- A Sorceress and an Angel

A long time ago, a man named Gustave Daae died. He was a famous violinist and was buried in Peros-Guirec, a chilly coastal town in France that was far enough away for it to be impossible to take a cab, but I digress. Gustave left behind nothing but a pretty little girl named Christine. Orphaned, the girl was taken to the Opera Populaire to study ballet. It was during this time that an extraordinary event took place… well, two, actually.

One night, the little girl was praying for her father's soul in the Opera's small chapel. Seems they left Sweden because he had been charged with petty larceny, doncha know?

As she prayed, she heard a most beautiful, angelic voice singing. She looked around, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere. Christine was so stunned that she forgot her prayer and her father got two more years in purgatory.

"Christine," the magnificent voice proclaimed, "I have sensed your great misfortune and-"

"Are you an angel?" the small girl gasped, "My father told me many stories about angels, especially stories of the Angel of Music, who grants people with exceptional talent!"

"I am not an angel," the voice replied. Christine's heart sank. "But," it continued, "I _can _help you. You see, I am a magical being." Christine, too young to fling holy water around her and shriek 'get back, demon!' listened raptly. "You see, my dear, there is an enchantment and I will place it upon you. Those under the enchantment are blissfully unaware and lead the happiest of lives, something you dearly need and deserve." Christine looked up toward the Heavens and clasped her hands.

"Thank you, kind being!"

"Think nothing of it, dear child. Now, close your eyes and picture the most beautiful woman you can, for she represents me, the powerful sorceress Maria Susana. Picture the woman and nothing else whilst I recite the incantation." Christine followed the sorceress's instructions and pictured the loveliest woman her seven-year-old mind could imagine.

"Now, Christine," the sorceress whispered, "The enchantment shall come into fruition after you have met your true love. Do you understand?" Christine nodded. "Sing, Christine. Sing." She did.

The next night a real angel came to her.

* * *

Nine years later, Christine Daae had grown into a beautiful young woman. She had a petite body, warm brown eyes, and dark curls that cascaded down her back when she allowed it. She was admired by the men at the Opera Populaire, but she was well-protected from their lechery by the strict and devoted Madame Giry, the ballet mistress of the opera. Madame Giry had a daughter Christine's age named Meg and she was Christine's best friend, practically her sister.

Christine had a secret, though she looked like an innocent little dancer. She was the only pupil of the Angel of Music, who had come to her in a time of great distress: after her father's death. She could not really recall the reason he had come to her. She had been praying in the chapel as always and he suddenly announced his presence and told her that he would teach her to sing like an angel.

She thought of this as she danced with the other dancers while they danced the dance in a scene from the opera 'Hannibal' by Chalemeau. She concentrated on her footwork and spins, unaware that the two new managers of the Opera were watching her and commenting on her beauty. When the dance ended, she took a break with Meg and listened to the diva Carlotta's latest tantrum.

"What is her problem?" Meg asked, picking at the ties on her slippers, "She is so lucky to be the lead singer. She should be grateful." Christine nodded as she watched the managers schmooze. She longed to be the lead singer of the Opera. She could see herself, radiant, singing to the angels in Heaven, especially her own Angel of Music. He would be so proud of her.

"She is only upset because they were not paying attention to _her," _the ballet mistress of the opera said, rolling her eyes. Christine nodded, but her thoughts again wandered. Just minutes earlier, she had received quite the surprise. The new patron of the opera had introduced himself to the cast and crew and it was none other than her childhood best friend- Raulph, the Vicompt de Changy! She had not thought of Raulph for many years, but she had been quite excited to see him and had pushed her way to the front of the crowd, looking his way expectantly, but he hadn't noticed her. She was only a lowly ballet rat, after all.

Christine sighed. Raulph would never notice someone like her. He was a grown, well-respected Vicompt now. He would probably marry some fine lady and bring her to the opera, where they would sit in a box and laugh as Christine missed a step. But she could admire him. If she had thought he was handsome as a small boy, he was even more handsome now: long golden hair and a charming smile.

"Christine!" Meg hissed. Christine had been spacing out again. She looked up and grabbed Meg in horror. A giant piece of scenery was crashing onto the stage! It almost crushed Carlotta, who stormed off angrily, followed by her entourage. Later, Lefevre, the retiring manager, bid them adieu. After this, Christine and Meg chatted about Meg's favorite subject, the Phantom of the Opera. She lived for news of the Phantom. Honestly, he scared Christine and she didn't want to think about him. She focused on her angel instead.

"Christine! Monique said that she saw the Phantom last night!" Meg whispered excitedly. _So much for that, _Christine thought.

"Christine Daae could sing it, sir." Christine looked up. Sing what?

"What, a chorus girl? Don't be silly," Andre, one of the new managers scoffed. Christine hung her head in shame. Of course she wasn't good enough to replace Carlotta.

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher," said Madame Giry. Andre scowled.

"Who?" Christine's stomach flip-flopped. She couldn't say that she was being tutored by an angel! She thought of saying his name was Angelo di Musico, but that was idiotic.

"I don't know his name, monsieur," she said timidly. Immediately, she wanted to smack herself. That was even worse! Madame Giry walked over and placed a comforting and supportive hand on Christine's shoulder.

"Let her sing for you, monsieur; she has been well-taught." Firmin, the other manager, gave his colleague a 'wahduhfuzzupwidat?' look, but Andre told Christine to begin the aria. She walked to center stage nervously and waited for the music to begin. Then she did what came naturally to her- thanks to the Angel of Music. She didn't know why she hadn't seen this coming. He had been teaching her the song for months!

* * *

Okay, now all of you reading: go watch the movie. That's what happens in the story: the rest of the movie. The story will wait…

Are you done? Good. We'll pick up from the end of the movie. Well, not the end, because the movie ends with Christine dead. We're talking this part:

Raulph ran over to Christine, who had just jumped from the carriage. She threw her arms around the Vicompt, sobbing. Meanwhile, the Phantom was chased into the river by a mob and-

What? You didn't watch the Lon Chaney movie?!

Kidding.

Christine looked back at her angel's form. His pant legs were still soaked from the lake and he was slumped over, watching her go, clutching the ring she had given him. She heard his voice faintly begin to sing,

"You alone can make my song take flight-"

"Stop the gondola!" Christine shouted. Raulph whipped his head around and stared at her.

"Christine… what-" Christine jumped out of the boat, her skirts ballooning as she tried to run in the shallow water, her slippers catching on the track on which the boat ran. "Christine! Where are you going?!" She did not listen. She ran as fast as she could (which was not very fast) back into the Phantom's cave.

"IT'S OVER NOW THE MUSIC OF THE-"

"YOU!" Christine yelled over his powerful voice. He turned to look at her. He had been set to smash one of his mirrors.

"Do you want to give me a lock of your hair now? Do you want to wear a vial of my blood around your neck? What?" Christine, throat a bit sore from the yelling, shook her head.

"I- I can't go." She whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, you want a souvenir. Here. Now just go." He chucked his mask at her. She stepped to the side to avoid it.

"I can't leave you!" Tears that had never really left filled her eyes again. "I can't!" The Phantom- her angel- dropped the candlestick and leaned wearily against the mirror.

"Christine, it would be selfish of me to keep you here. You're young and beautiful and you deserve sunshine and beautiful palaces and all the other things the Vicompt can give you. I'm old and hideous and I'm just going to die, leaving you alone- wait, I'm Gerard Butler with red paint on his face! Christine!" He ran down the stone steps and into the water and embraced her. Christine wrapped her arms tightly around her angel, tears flowing down her face.

"I love you… you."

"My name is Erik. And I love you. I really, really love you." She kissed him again, this time not to save an innocent man's life.

The mob, led by Meg, had reached the lair by now and they saw the two of them kissing.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw," they cooed silently.

"Let's go," Meg whispered, catching a glimpse of the man who fascinated her. "We'll tell everyone that he committed suicide."

"That would be a shame since they're so cute!" whispered a man with a torch, "Let's tell them he flew away on a magic pony!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- The Dream of My Dreams

Christine slept that night in the luxurious swan-shaped bed in a corner of Erik's cavern. It had been very late when they had exchanged good night kisses and had retired to their respective chambers. Christine blushed when she thought of the possibility of sharing a bed with her love. _Oh, it would be Heaven, but I must not think such things! _

A disturbed sleep overcame her…

_Christine sat in the sunshine in a beautiful garden, smiling like she owned the world. And didn't she? She had been married to Raulph for two months and was now the Vicomptess de Changy. She and her husband were in love and the sun always shone on their immense property. She had never been happier in her entire life._

_Footsteps approached. Christine turned to see her handsome and loving husband, but something was wrong._

"_Raulph, darling, whatever is the matter?" Raulph looked at her with a blank expression._

"_Do you remember last night?" he asked her in a steely voice. Christine thought back…_

"_Are you referring to the Duke D' Genericfrenchname's summer ball?" Raulph nodded._

"_Do you know what the men told me?" Christine shook her head. "Christine, they told me I was a fool for marrying you!" Christine's mouth fell open._

"_B-but, darling, you surely cannot believe that!" Christine touched her husband's shoulder but he pushed her hand away._

"_Shouldn't I? You know nothing of the nobility, you silly little girl! You are a poor street wretch and I never saw it before because you were using your wicked charms and beautiful voice on me! I would never have made this mistake if I had had someone to guide me- an older brother, perhaps. But I have no brother, Christine! I have no brother and I married _you. _I will regret for the rest of my life the shame you have brought upon me!"_

_Christine's lips trembled and pearly tears fell from her wide eyes onto her alabaster cheeks._

"_Dear, Raulph, how can you say such things? I truly love you!" Raulph snarled and threw the object he had been holding, a bottle of very hard liquor, at her head. It grazed her delicate forehead and left a gash._

"_I am obliged to keep you as my wife and house you, wretch, but I no longer consider you a friend and lover! You are no better than one of my maids!" He looked at her. "And do you know what maids are for, Christine?" Christine's heart raced._

"_Raulph, no, please!"_

"Argh!"

"Christine! Christine!" Christine felt someone shaking her delicate shoulders. The touch was meant to be gentle, but the shaker put too much muscle into the shake and Christine thought she felt a rattling in her head. "Enrique?"

"Christine, I told you my name was Erik." Christine blinked and leaned back against her pillows.

"Yes, yes, I remember now." She took a deep breath and looked around the room at the exquisite decorations.

"That was a lot of capital A's Or at least they would have been if the site would stop deleting them. What could be the matter?" Christine recalled the horrid dream and clenched the blankets with her tiny fists.

"Oh, it was a horrid dream! I-" She could not tell Ernie about Raulph's dream felony. She might not love Raulph anymore, but he was not a rapist. "I-I lost my singing voice." It was not a complete lie. That scream would have made anyone hoarse.

"Well, if it helps, your lungs seem to be functioning quite well." He smiled at her, showing his immaculately white teeth. Christine managed a small smile. "Good night, then… Ernie. Sleep well." Ernie frowned.

"Erik, Christine, my name is Erik." The young woman smiled, nodded, and sank into her silky blankets.

"Yes, good night."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- A Blessing or a Curse?

It was morning when Christine awoke for a second time. It was difficult to know because she was in a cave, but if her sleep cycle remained intact (and she had risen at five every morning since she began ballet) then it was morning.

Christine's eyes fell upon a beautiful morning gown that lay at the end of her bed.

"Oh!" she gasped. She held it up. It was a sky blue color and it felt very soft. She read the manufacturer's tag: _Opera Ghost Fashion. 100% silk. Dry Clean Only. Do not fall in lake. _She had never worn such a fine garment, even when she had starred in those three operas. Excitedly, she took off the lovely night dress Erik and given her and pulled the dress on. There was a long-forgotten mirror in the corner of her chamber and it was very dusty, but she wiped away some of the muck and gazed at her reflection.

"I never knew I was so voluptuous," she said softly to herself. Her bosom seemed to have become very large. To be sure, she squeezed one. Yes, it was much larger. "This really _is _a good dress." She spun around to look at her rear. Funny, that was larger as well. "Maybe Eddie is a booty man," she muttered. As she looked at herself, she found that her hips were wider and that the rest of her body was more filled out. She didn't seem to have a dancer's physique at all- rather, it seemed like she had gotten the choicest cuts of meat her whole life.

Then she noticed something she had not noticed before.

She was blonde.

"Wow, this is some dress," Christine said, "Though I'll have to talk to Eddie about the fit. I look like a cow!" She peeked out of the door to her bedchamber and saw her phantom sitting at a piano, sort of like he had been on that day on which she had pulled off his mask. Not wanting to repeat the incident, Christine cleared her throat and called out to him. "Hey, Eggbert!" Erik turned, not because his name was Eggbert, but because another person was speaking in his lair. This was a frighteningly rare occurrence.

"Good morning, Christine," Erik said, "And my name is Erik." Christine nodded.

"Yes, yes, Elfangor, but I need to talk to you. Something is horribly wrong!" Erik stood and approached the love of his life. There was an extremely concerned look on his face…even though his face was not visible.

"What is the matter?" Christine pulled the door open. "Ah, do you like your new dress? You look ravishing!" Christine frowned.

"Do you not notice?" she asked. Erik shook his head. "I'm blonde!"

"Christine, you have always been blonde." Christine's eyes widened.

"No! No! My hair is dark, chocolaty brown and lustrous curls ride down my back to my waist!" Erik's eyes now widened and he placed the back of his hand against her forehead.

"You do seem flushed. I fear you have adjectivitus. Everyone in the corps de ballet and the chorus got it. How I hoped you would be spared!"

"Wait… the what and the what got it?"

"The corps de ballet… you know, the ballerinas? The dancers? And the chorus. You don't remember them? Good heavens, you had to rehearse with them for months! This is worse than I thought." Christine wished she could ponder his strange ramblings, but there were far more important matters at hand.

"Edmundo, look at my bust!" There was silence. Erik was frozen where he stood and Christine was pointing at her chest.

"W- what about your bust?" Erik asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"You're not looking! It's huge! My bosom is huge!"

"Christine…" Erik began, "Your… bosom looks the same as it always has. Not that I frequently look at your bosom." Christine was about to explode from confusion.

"No! They were much smaller than this! Kiwi fruit, Meg used to call them. She has full watermelons of course, but mine are at least cantaloupes now!" By now, Erik's face had turned a scarlet shade, you know, not that you could tell.

"Er… I'm sure you always had… cantaloupes," he muttered, "Wait. Meg Giry? She's barely a teenager and she's flat as a board!"

"Are you kidding me?! I once heard a rude stagehand call them gazonkas!"

"Okay, enough of this!" Erik shouted. "This is ridiculous! Christine, you've always been blonde, your bosom has always been ample and Meg Giry is flat as a crepe!" Christine stood still, her mouth hanging open. She realized she had been talking to the Phantom of the Opera, her love, about her breasts.

"Dear God," she whispered. But how could she be blonde?

* * *

"I can't believe you lost your way, Christine! I showed you the most important entrances and exits to the house by the lake yesterday!" Christine tried to hold back her tears. She had wanted to make her love happy by showing him that she could navigate her way through the opera house and to the auditorium, but she had gotten hopelessly lost and almost killed.

"But I followed the same path as when you first brought me here!" she sobbed. "Up the canal, take a right, go up the stairs, down the long passageway with the moving torches, and into the dressing room! I found the canal, but then..." She choked and could not continue. Erik dragged her by the hand.

"Then you ended up in the sewers," he finished. "Christine, you know it is best to leave by way of the Rue Scribe so it appears as if you are arriving at the Palais Garnier and not mysteriously appearing."

"Th-the… _what?" _Erik, annoyed, placed a hand on his love's forehead.

"You seem warm, but it could be the _detour. _Ah, here we are: your dressing room." Christine kissed Erik on his masked cheek and stepped through the secret mirror door.

"See you later." Erik left and Christine reached out to drop her bag onto the chaise lounge. It was not there. Surprised, she looked around and found that she was not in the Prima Donna dressing room at all! There were no lavish bouquets and all of the bubblegum furniture was gone. Also, the room was not so long.

"Elliot spies on other women!" she gasped, clutching her face with her hands.

"My name is Erik, and I do not!" came Erik's muffled reply. "You're going to be late for rehearsal." Sighing, Christine looked around for her costumes. They were in a small closet. As she tried to figure out which one she was supposed to wear, never having been given a memo, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" she called. A young woman in a maid's uniform opened the door and entered the room. "Who are you?" Christine asked. The woman looked confused.

"I-I'm your maid, Yvette. I assist you with your dressing, mademoiselle." Christine frowned. She did not recall ever having a maid. Perhaps this came with the promotion to Prima Donna. But-

"Where is Madame Giry? She usually helps me with that." Yvette looked more confused.

"The boxkeeper? When did this start?" Christine shook her head.

"No, Madame Giry is the ballet mistress."

"No, mademoiselle, I am certain that she is the boxkeeper for box five. You might be speaking of mademoiselle Giry. I've heard talk among the staff that she will replace La Sorelli." Christine did not understand a bit of that sentence, so she decided to just let this Yvette person dress her and ask Eugene about it later.

"What shall I be wearing for the rehearsal?" Christine asked. Yvette smiled and held up a lovely dress.

"I bet you're excited, mademoiselle. _Faust _was so popular that the managers have requested that it be performed again! And you are to play Margeurite once more! I really hope that they do not expect another performance from the opera ghost."

"_Faust?" _Christine was about to ask what that was, but she had found that people expected her to know all of these things and they got angry and confused when she didn't, so she went along with it. "That does sound quite exciting."

"Oh, yes. I love to watch that show from the wings. The managers are anxious, though, after what happened the last time the show was performed. Poor mademoiselle Carlotta. And then… what happened to you…"

"Poor _Carlotta? _She was a whining snob, Yvette! And did your ears fail you whenever she performed? She was awful!" Yvette lowered her eyes.

"I am sorry, mademoiselle."

Once Christine was dressed, she made her way to the stage. She saw the managers seated in the auditorium and the cast members were milling about, chatting. She looked around for Meg, hoping to find out if anyone was worried about what had happened to her the previous night. At last, she spotted her dancer friend. Only… something was wrong. She looked similar to Christine's memory, but she was much younger and had the flat chest that Erik had spoken of. Plus, her hair was almost black.

"Hello… Meg?" Christine said after approaching the girl. Meg looked at her in shock.

"Mademoiselle Christine!" she gasped.

"You do not have to call me that, Meg. We are friends, aren't we?" Meg looked dumbstruck.

"I-I suppose? Oh, Christine! Everyone was so worried about you after your disappearance! Are you quite all right?" Christine nodded.

"I am just fine, Meg. I feel well."

"What about the ghost? Did the ghost take you, Christine? And what about the Vicomte?!" Christine thought that everyone had known who the Phantom was after she had pulled off his mask, but perhaps Meg was not very bright.

"He did take me, but he let us go, though I'm… I'm afraid that after that ordeal, Raulph wanted to have nothing to do with me!" She pretended to be sad to protect both Irvin and Raulph. This was the best way to keep their secret.

"Oh, I am very sorry, Christine."

"Thank you, Meg." Meg's pitying smile turned into a huge grin.

"Oh, how I've wanted to share this with someone! Christine, the managers have made me the lead dancer while La Sorelli is on leave!"

"Meg! That's wonderful!" She did not ask who La Sorelli was. She did not want anymore strange looks.

"I pity her, though," Meg said, "She is mourning poor Comte Philippe." Christine had no idea who that was either, but it is always sad to lose a loved one.

"Yes, poor Comte Philippe."

"I can imagine the Vicomte was upset as well. And after going through all… all of that."

"Oh, I do not know why Raulph would be so upset…" Meg looked at Christine strangely.

"I would be upset if I lost my brother." Christine's eyes widened.

"Raulph has a brother?!"

"Not anymore." The cast was called to attention by Monsieur Firmin. They looked very unhappy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are very sorry to have to put you through this trouble once again, but my colleague Armand Moncharmin and I have decided to resign as managers." Christine was very tired of being confused. Who was Armand Moncharmin? Firmin, who called himself Richard, was clearly referring to Andre. She felt like taking a long bath and going to bed early with an ice pack on her head. "While we find replacements, the season will be postponed. You will all have time off with pay. Thank you for your time." They were dismissed.

Many of the little ballet girls were running around and cheering at the prospect of free time. Christine was happy because she could spend more time with her love and perhaps not come up here, where things had become very confusing, for a while. She hurried back to her dressing room, where Aaron was waiting for her. Feeling very happy, she ran up to him and hugged him tightly. He returned the embrace and Christine realized something horrible. He was emaciated! Where was his tall, well-built body? Why did he feel so cold and smell so awful?

"Are you alright?" she asked, pulling away from him.

"I feel fine, Christine," he replied, reaching to her as if longing to return to her arms. She blocked him.

"You… I know everyone has become exasperated with my questioning everything and perhaps I need to be locked away, but you look different. Everything is different! What is going on?" Erik sighed.

"I am beginning to fear that you really are ill. You're becoming hysterical." He pulled up his mask slightly so that he could kiss her forehead.

"Your lips!" she shrieked. Erik quickly backed away from her, but Christine got a hold of his mask and pulled it off. It was horrible! His face looked exactly like the lie Joseph Buquet had perpetrated. He looked sickly (dead was the more appropriate term) and nothing like the tragically beautiful man he had been the day before. Most horribly, his eyes were sunk so far into his face and his nose was absent. He was living death!

She screamed.

* * *

As Christine slept through the ordeal and into the night, all she heard were strange whispers.

"She is _fine, _Daroga."

"She is not fine, Erik. Something is very wrong with her and I fear that it is the effect living here is having on her."

"She chose to stay here with me, Daroga! She agreed to become my wife and even after I released her, she returned to me! She is Erik's! If you ever try to interfere with us again, he will not be responsible for his actions!" Erik was speaking with some strange man that Christine did not know, even in her dream-like state. After a while, she heard another voice, a voice almost as beautiful as Erik's.

"It has begun, Christine." And with that, she heard horrible and evil laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- The Way Life Should Be

**Note: I have nothing against a certain work mentioned in this chapter, but my friends seem to have a grudge against it and my roommate suggested I use it. I have actually never seen it, but I have heard some of the music and I am just imagining how it would be interpreted for the nineteenth century.**

Christine did not want to get out of her bed. She did not want to face that confusing and scary world that had changed so much in one night. When she bravely opened her eyes, however, she saw that she was back in the swan bed and not in the strange bedroom she had seen yesterday. Happily, figuring she must have had a nightmare, she leaned against the velvet pillows and breathed in the scent of musty cave.

Not bothering to look in the mirror because she was so terrified of what might happen, Christine grabbed the first dress that caught her eye out of the wardrobe and put it on. Then she made her way… she wasn't really sure.

To her relief, the room looked the same as it had when Erik had first brought her there: it was a cavern near a lake with a bunch of lit candles. Drawings covered the walls and everything was in a state of elegant disarray.

"Erik!" she called nervously, not wanting to see his frightening visage again. To her relief, he emerged from another chamber looking the way he should. To her joy, he was once again wearing a low-cut white shirt and high-waisted black pants. The way he smiled (for his smile was visible) made her knees tremble.

"What is it, mon ange?" he asked in a sensual tone. He walked over to her and kissed her hand.

"I-I was hungry. Very hungry, actually. We haven't eaten in two days!"

"Ah! You are right. Please forgive me, dearest: sometimes an artist simply forgets these things." He walked over to the row of covered mirrors, picked up a candlestick and raised the drape. There was a loud smashing sound as glass flew everywhere and fell to the floor. "The kitchen is through there, mon ange."

"Erik," she said, brushing stray glass off of her skirt, "Why not simply install doors?"

"Disappearing under a blanket isn't dramatic enough for movies."

"What?"

"What?" Christine shook her head. She must not be over that horrid dream she had had.

Erik led her to a small kitchen and showed her the pantry.

"Just give me a few minutes and I'll make you an omelet." Christine nodded and seated herself at the little, round table.

"I did not know there was more than that one room," she said, making conversation.

"Oh, yes," Erik said, "I should show you the bathroom, the library, and the weight room."

"There's a bathroom?" Erik paused for a moment but went back to making the food. Once he was done, he set the elegant platter before his beloved.

"Bon apetit!" Christine, ravenous, picked up her utensils and devoured the meal. It was the best thing she had ever put into her mouth! Erik was good at everything! Music, cooking, art…

"You are wonderful, Erik," she sighed as she ate the last morsel. Erik took her hand.

"My dearest angel, it makes me so happy to hear you say those words! Oh…" Tears filled his eyes. "I want to ask you something, dearest, dearest, most precious and gorgeous creature, nearest to my heart, nearer than my lungs!" Christine gasped. She knew what he was about to say.

"Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant, will you marry me?"

* * *

Well, not that.

Christine was absolutely sick and tired of fainting. How many times had it happened now? Three? Five? Just thinking about it made her want to faint.

She awoke and screeched when she saw Erik standing over her. His hand immediately flew to his face, which was unmasked, and he backed away.

"Oh, Erik, no! No, my love! It is not your face that startled me. Why, though, were you leaning over me like that?"

"Dear Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant, I only want to make sure that my dearest treasure does not cease to breathe as her precious heart flutters around the utopia that is the world of dreams!" Christine blinked in horror. What was with all the flowery language? It wasn't even flowery. It was more like weeds choking out sentences. She wondered why he called her that ridiculous name. Had someone's four-year-old sister chosen it?

"Erik, you may shorten my name. _Please," _She sighed, placing a hand elegantly on her forehead.

"Yes, dear sugarspoons. You have told me what you prefer to be called." He kissed every finger individually. Christine tried not to pull her hand back with disgust. It was one thing to fawn over a woman and quite another to become a puddle around her ankles! "Oh, Sparkle, I'm afraid I have not yet received an answer to my question." He looked into her eyes pleadingly, adoringly and not at all threateningly.

"Perhaps I will answer if you call me… Angebelle. Or maybe just Belle. Sheesh. I'd much rather be called Fred." Erik grabbed her around the waist so tightly that she could not breathe.

"Dear Fred! Say you will be mining forever!"

"What?"

"The spell check did that. Oh, say that you will stay by me for the rest of our lives!" Christine felt dizzy from all of the attention. She wished he would just go away. But he was still Erik…

"I'll marry you." Erik's face fell. "What? I said 'yes.'" Erik's lip quivered. "I will be your wife!" Erik burst into tears.

"You do not truly love me!" he wailed. Christine sat up in her bed.

"That's ridiculous, Erik! Of course I love you! Would I be here if I did not?" Erik sniffed.

"B-b-but all you said was "I'll marry you." What kind of an acceptance speech is that? I put so much effort into the things I've said to you these past days…" Christine sighed and walked over to him, cradling his face in her small hands.

"Erik, oh, mooshie gooshie. I would be honored. I would be the most honored woman to become your wife. Mooshie gooshie goo. Your love is like the sweetest song sung from the sweetest lips to the sweetest ears. Music mooshie gooshie goo. You are the most wonderful man I have ever known. My life is yours and I will have yours for my own. Mooshie." Erik's eyes filled with brilliantly shiny tears. He smiled and laid hundreds of kisses upon Christine's cheeks and nose.

"Those ears are yours, Fred. The lips are yours. And my heart is singing that song." Christine waited for his kisses to end and then excused herself to the bathroom (Erik had to smash another mirror) where she promptly retched into the toilet.

* * *

An hour or so later, Erik had gone out to buy some food. Christine perused his massive library but found nothing to her liking. Bored out of her mind, she walked back to her room, hoping Erik had left something to amuse her there. Searching everywhere, she found a small leather journal that was three-quarters full.

"I wonder whose it is." Christine opened the book, feeling like a snoop until she saw the signature at the bottom of the page: Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant. "Apparently, it's mine," she said, rolling her eyes. Figuring it would do well to read up on the life of this person she supposedly was, she started at the first entry.

_March 28, 1871_

_Dearest Journal,_

_My dearest brother, Javier, has given me this little journal for my birthday. I am sixteen today- quite the important age! Mother has been telling me for the past three years that she has been looking for marriage prospects for me but she has obviously found none as there are no suitors at the door asking for my hand._

_Oh, journal, my step-sister Snobiette says this is because I am so horrendously ugly! Oh journal, it cannot be true! It just cannot! It cannot!_

_Deep down, though, I know she is right. No man would ever love me with my shining fiery hair and emerald-mirror eyes. And my figure does me no justice! I am very full-bosomed. Oh, no man can bear the sight of me! Men want slender, boyish girls with ringlets of mahogany curls and eyes to match! That is how Snobiette looks and she has more suitors than I though she is but fourteen!_

_I must close you now journal for fear of smudging the ink with my tears._

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_March 30, 1871_

_Dearest Journal,_

_It happened again. It is so horrid that I doubt if I can write it, but I must, journal! I must!_

_Claude, my step-father, though he prefers that I call him 'papa' came into my room again last night. He touched me again in that horrible way. Oh, if he should ever find this…_

_No man could ever want me. I am ruined; I know it. Maman's heart would break if she knew._

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_April 4, 1871_

_Dearest Journal,_

_More horrors to write about! Today, Claude banished Javier from our home because he lost his job at the mill! Javier's foot was crushed in a horrible mill accident and he was thrown out into the street! I do not know how I will go on without my dearest brother! He was the one who taught me to write like a rich lady. He encourages my education. No more! Claude says that girls should not do such things. He is forcing me to do more and more domestic work and I hardly have time to write!_

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_July 18, 1871_

_Dearest Journal_

_I have not written for a very long time. Maman has fallen quite ill and I have had to care for her and do her share of the chores. There has been no time for writing at all. I am very afraid for what Claude will do to me. I fear that if Maman dies then he shall try to wed me. Snobiette does not care that I do all the work. She is to be married in two months to a well-to-do banker and I shall be left alone here with her father every day._

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_July 30, 1871_

_Dearest Journal_

_Again there has been a lapse in my writing. For this I am sorry but truly exciting things have happened._

_First, I ran away. I know it was horrible of me to leave Maman, but the doctor has told us that she does not have long to live and I cannot bear to think of becoming Claude's next wife. Surely there are laws that forbid that?_

_I searched for Javier everywhere but no one had seen him. I even went to the bad parts of the city and am quite sure that I could make money by selling myself. I would never do that! Now that I am free from Claude's persecution, I will treat myself like the virgin I deserve to be. Though… perhaps I deserve whatever horrid fate befalls me…_

_I had to close you for fear of ruining the ink. I must say what happened next. I had to find work of course and I have had much experience. It so happens that I came across a group of girls of my station who were applying to be maids at the Opera Populaire. I asked if I could join them and they agreed. I feel like I finally have friends, journal! Their names are Claire, Clarice, and Clairanne. Needless to say, such a large building always needs more hands. We were hired!_

_The Opera Populaire is a marvelous building, especially after it was reconstructed after that horrid fire. Oh to be invited to the spectacular balls that are held here or to watch one of the magnificent operas! But, alas! I am only a maid._

_Claire, Clarice, Clairanne and I share a tiny apartment in a rundown part of the city. It is worth it, though, just to be able to be in the Opera House! I feel so honored every time the head cleaning woman hands me a bucket and tells me to clean the stage. Sometimes I imagine that I am a great singer- the greatest in all of France, no, the world! Then the little dancing girls dump water all over my head._

_Sometimes I just hate my job and I have only been here for a week! I know I just said it was wonderful, but my back has never been so sore and I have never looked so ragged. At least at home I had a comb… no! I must not think of that place! I have a new life now and whether the world likes it or not, I will apply myself!_

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_August 9, 1871_

_Dear Journal,_

_The oddest thing happened to me today. I was cleaning the Prima Donna dressing room. A terrible woman named Marplotta Snootifelli holds that title now after what happened to Christine Daae. I have indeed heard strange rumors about that girl and despite my fears of Marplotta's sharp tongue, I braved the task of cleaning her dressing room, something the other maids dare not do._

_It is a most lovely room- decorated in many shades of pink, almost to the point of looking tacky I daresay._

_The most interesting thing about the room, though, is the large mirror opposite the door. It is almost as if there are two entrances to the room: one through the door and the other through the mirror. But that is my silly mind again._

_Still, I felt as if I were being watched…_

_Angebelle Suzette Sparklegumdrops du Croissant_

_August 14, 1871_

_Dear Journal,_

_I could not help it! I was so curious about the room and the mirror but had no opportunities to go back as it does not need to be cleaned every day and Marplotta gets so annoyed when we try._

_I was dusting the bureau when I noticed that she had left some sheet music on her music stand. Dear Javier had taught me to read music, but I did not know much about singing. Fortunately, I recognized the song as one we used to sing as children. I cleared my throat and imagined Javier was standing there with me as I began to sing:_

_Brand new state!  
Brand new state, gonna treat you great!  
Gonna give you barley, carrots and pertaters,  
Pasture fer the cattle,  
Spinach and termayters!  
_

_Oh, how we'd imagine ourselves away from dreadful, dirty Paris and to the great, sunny plains of Oklahoma! It sounded like paradise to me! But I am getting off the subject._

_An invisible man spoke to me! Oh, I know I sound just bonkers, journal, but it is true! I could hear him plain as day in sunny Oklahoma._

_He said, "Dear child, your voice is truly sent from Heaven. I should know as I am the angel sent to guide you."_

Christine snapped the book shut. She was furious. Erik was cheating on her! With… her! She looked down at her chest and it was indeed full. She let out a 'humph.' She could guess what happened after the next entry. Erik decided to take this strumpet back to the lair and woo her. Of course there would be no handsome nobleman (not that she cared to read any further) to get in the way of "true love."

Suddenly she thought of something horrible. What if she and Erik had…

She leafed through the journal, but apparently, it had only been a few days after Erik had brought "Angebelle" to his home. Christine sighed with relief, but the relief didn't last long, for she was in someone else's body.

Terrified, she approached the mirror. Staring back at her was a frightened-looking, but attractive redhead.

"What did she mean by "No man would ever want me?" she asked aloud. Angebelle's body put her own real body to shame. In fact, she wondered if Angebelle's body could even exist. She looked down at her finger, the one that held Erik's sparkling engagement ring. Tears started to form in her eyes. What was going on? Why did everything keep changing? When would she wake from this nightmare?

* * *

After lunch, Christine found herself (or Angebelle, anyway) at a rehearsal for _Oklahoma, _as the opera was so cleverly called.

It seemed that Erik had improved her voice in a matter of days and had secured her the lead role in the production. Christine rolled her eyes. This was impossible! It had taken her ten years of training to become the Prima Donna, and even then it was Erik's letters that had gotten her the position.

But no one seemed to believe in reality anymore. It was almost worse than the previous day.

Christine glanced at Meg, who was blonde and endowed once more and standing with the other dancers. They were wearing hideous, garish farmwife outfits. The current backdrop was painted to look like a farm. Angebelle may have been in paradise, but Christine sure wasn't.

"Mademoiselle du Croissant!" Christine almost forgot to answer to the name. The only reason she had was because it was so stupid.

"Yes, Madame Giry?"

"Could you please move? We are about to start." Christine did not know where that was.

"I- I am sorry, Madame. I feel a bit woozy and I am having difficulty remembering my marks." Madame Giry sighed in a very frustrated way.

"This is very unlike you, Mademoiselle. You usually correct me when I make errors!" She led Christine to a pretend hay bale in the wings. "Now, we are not rehearsing your numbers today." Christine thanked God with all her heart. "Just sit there while Pierre practices his part." Christine glanced at the person who must be Pierre. He was rotund- much more so than Piangi had been. He was dressed in a style that seemed to be popular in the American West. Monsieur Reyer cued up the orchestra and Pierre began to sing.

_Oh, what a beautiful morning-_

_

* * *

_

Of all the forays into Hell Christine had made over the past days, that rehearsal had certainly been the worst.

Then she remembered Erik.

"Oh Honeybunchkins of Love!" Erik cooed from the kitchen as she steered the gondola onto the tiny dock. Strange, she had never been strong enough to do that before, but Erik had insisted that she was perfectly capable of it.

Her love emerged holding a tray of steaming cookies. A syrupy smile was planted on his face and his cheeks seemed rosy and his heartbeat-quickening green eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm Christine had never before seen. The smile faded when she just stared at him.

"How fares the future Madame Ghostoux?" Erik set the cookies on the table and put the cloths he had been using to shield his hands from the heat alongside them.

"I am frustrated, Erik." She walked past him and sat down.

"This again, dear Fred?" he asked, brushing a crimson lock from her face.

"Angebelle. And yes, I am frustrated. I am frustrated with that dreadful spectacle they are producing upstairs! They kept calling it an opera. Pfft! It is a disgrace! There were grown men prancing around and singing about agriculture and apparently the whole thing is about how farmers and ranchers don't get along! Absurd! Couldn't you, with your influence-" Christine stopped her rant when she saw her beloved's face. His eyes were wet and his lower lip was trembling in a most annoying and juvenile way. "Erik?"

"Y- you do not like my masterwork?" Christine's face drained of all color. That abomination was _his? _

"That abomination was _yours?" _Erik let out a choked sob. He clasped her had so tight that she was sure the giant engagement ring left a mark.

"Oh, my Angebelle, dearest creature in my life, the only woman I have ever loved!" Christine made a very rude and sarcastic comment in her mind. "Do you not remember what happened the first night you came here and what we spoke about? Do you not recall how you said you wished you and your brother could run away to Oklahoma, where there are no worries and cares? Can you possibly not remember that I, too, expressed my lifelong yearning for the renewed Eden that is Oklahoma? It is the first thing we had in common, my beautiful Ange! When I showed you the opera, you were most excited." He squeezed her hand harder as the tears began to fall onto her new dress, "But now… you have heard it and you hate it! I am a failure to the name of Music and to the name of Love!" He buried his head on her knees and sobbed. Christine tried to move but he had a firm grip on her and she felt it was best to comfort him. She knew just the thing.

"You know… mooshie… what I was most irritated with was Pierre. He is a dreadful singer." It was not true. Though he was singing… _that, _Pierre had a decent voice. If only his talent could be showcased in something better suited for it, like _Hannibal _or _Three Human Skulls. _Erik was behaving like a fool, though, and Christine needed to fix this problem if she ever wanted to get her situation straightened out. "I am quite sure that the show would be good if not for his… well, do you understand what I am trying to say?" Erik looked up at her, rather like a tearful toddler, and nodded.

"You are correct, of course. I never did like him. He is like a male Carlotta, all those high-pitched wailing notes." Christine was glad that Erik was normal (sort of) once more. She stood up and took a cookie from the tray, eager to show that he was brilliant at most everything.

"The show _is _good, Erik," she lied, "But how did you get the managers to perform it? They despise you." Erik grinned.

"You are still under the weather, I see. The day after you arrived, you admonished me for being so coarse with people. I remember it well; you have quite the persuasive nature. You inspired me to write a letter to the managers, asking them to forgive me. I also sent my opera as a token of good faith- a gift. They were delighted and accepted, especially when they realized that the subject matter was… lighter than that of my last."

The two of them ate the cookies- but not too many to lose their perfect figures- and spent a lovely evening going over the new opera and some staging ideas Erik had. He also rehearsed many of the pieces with her. At night, Christine went to bed feeling like her ears were bleeding.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- Every Woman's Dream

Christine was absolutely determined not to get out of bed. _Perhaps if I stay here, this will all just go away, just stop, _she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the bed covers up to her nose, unwilling to look at the world that would most likely make no sense if she opened her eyes. She didn't even care that the blanket she was clutching was made out of soft cotton instead of the usual silk- she was _not _going to look at anything.

No such luck for poor Christine, however.

"MOMMY!" Christine's eyes opened in horror as she heard two sets of little feet clattering across the floor and she let out a gasp as two very small creatures landed on her. "Mommy, you've been sleeping too long. It's time to get up!" One of them scolded.

"Now girls, Mommy is very tired." Christine heard that familiar voice- one that should have made her feel better, but after the previous day, she was dreading it. Christine peeked out from under the blanket and saw her beloved holding a breakfast tray. She had to close her eyes quickly, though, for bright, bright light was streaming in through the windows, through which, when she could bear it, she could see a gorgeous view of the sea. She also got a good look at the little creatures bouncing merrily on top of her. They were two little girls. One could be her clone- or daughter, she supposed. She had her large brown eyes and silky, tight curls. The other had the same eyes and shining blonde hair, just because there always has to be a blonde child (it's cute). They looked to be no more than seven.

"Erik? Who are these children?" she asked, already knowing the dreaded answer. The blonde girl giggled.

"Mommy is silly!" Erik set down the tray, walked over to the bed and picked the two girls up.

"Mommy has been sick. Daddy does not want you two to get sick as well." The girls pouted in a way Christine assumed was supposed to be adorable but was really quite annoying. She yawned and sat up.

"I feel much better, Erik. Is that toast?" Feeling quite hungry, she nearly ran to the dressing table where her… husband?... had set the meal.

"See, she's all better, Daddy," the brunette girl said happily. Erik put her down and she ran over to Christine and latched onto her leg. Christine practically choked and looked down at her offspring.

"Could you please not dig your nails into Mommy's leg…"

"Girianne!" the small girl pouted. Christine felt guilty. A mother should be able to remember her children's names, right? Not that she had had much of a choice in the matter.

"Very, sorry, dear. I'm tired. Of course I know you. I have two very pretty little girls." Girianne's face fell and Christine heard a muffled sob from the corner of the room she hadn't seen yet. _What now? _

From the shadows, another girl raced out of the room, sobbing. Christine did not get a very good look at her, but she had Erik's sleek black hair (even though his was totally a wig in the movie) and her own tiny mask. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Mon petite!" Erik called, running after her. Christine felt terrible. Really, this was bad enough when it was just herself and Erik… and the entire opera house… but _children? _They actually had feelings!

Christine put the rest of the toast slice on the tray and sat at the edge of the bed, head in her hands. Someone patted her arm.

"We know you did not mean to upset June." It was the blond child. Christine sighed.

"No, I did not. This blasted illness! I don't even remember your names! Um… when I woke up I did not even remember having children. I thought this was a dream." The blonde, who seemed to be the oldest, jumped up and sat beside her mother.

"I shall help, Mommy. I am Angelle. I'm nine. Girianne is seven. June… she's just turned six. We all like music but June is the best singer. But _I'm _the best at piano!"

"That is because you've been playing longer," scoffed Girianne, sitting on Christine's other side."

"Daddy says I have a very good technique." Angelle stuck her tongue out at her little sister.

"Now girls, if I remember right, you are both very good." She hoped she had said the right thing. They smiled, so she assumed she had. She patted them both on the head to comfort them but she was really worried about June.

* * *

It was quiet, which Christine prayed was normal for this strange place. She was not in the lair, she found, or even in the Opera House, but at a quaint little cottage by the sea. And while she thought that describing the house like that seemed a bit clichéd, quaint was the only way she could think to describe it: how many decorative pillows and bowls full of seashells did one need?

She peered into the last room she had not explored after she had set her two older daughters to do a reading assignment. It was yet another quaint and frilly sun porch. There were four in all. This one, though, had a lovely view of a quite spectacular garden and in that garden was her husband, desperately trying to console a tiny girl. Christine sighed. At least exploring the house had given her some time to avoid having to confront this problem.

She made her way through the house and found the side door which led outside and into the garden. Remaining hidden, she listened to what Erik and June were saying.

"For the final time, Mommy does not hate you," Erik was saying, "She is having trouble remembering things. She could not remember my name and we have been married for ten years." Christine quickly looked down at herself. There was no way she looked like she had borne three children. She looked exactly like her teenage self.

"She d-d-doesn't think I'm p-p-pretty!" the little girl sobbed, refusing to climb down from the tree in which she was sitting.

"Junie, do you remember the talk we had (at least a hundred times)?" He mumbled the last part of that. Christine could not hear a reply, but Erik continued: "You and I have problems with our faces but it doesn't make us bad people. Mommy fell in love with me despite how I look and she loves you because you look like me and because you're her child." Erik was being disturbingly sensitive for someone whose mother had been afraid to touch him, Christine thought.

"Erik?" She walked out from her hiding place tentatively, waiting for him to help remedy this situation. She wished more than anything that their lives would just go back to normal. She would even take the over-sensitive version of Erik over this.

"Ah," said her husband, "Here's Mommy now." Christine walked over to where Erik stood and looked up into the tree. There sat a small child in a white dress which looked rather fancy for playtime. Her long black hair captured the light, making it look as if it were made out of black silk and it was partly tied with a white ribbon while the rest flowed over her tiny shoulders. She would be rather lovely, especially with her striking eyes- the same as Erik's- if not for the little mask on her face which was exactly like her father's.

"June?" The girl looked down at her. "I truly did not mean to hurt your feelings. I have been having so much trouble keeping track of what is going on these past few days… I was not careful with my words. I… love you very much." Christine tried hard to sound sincere, but it was very hard to feel love for a child she had never met- a child whom she was supposed to love unconditionally.

It was as if June could sense this, however, and she jumped out of the tree and ran, sobbing, down to the beach.

"June!" Erik called. His fists clenched and Christine shrank back. "ERIK JUNIOR! THIS IS NO WAY TO ACT TOWARDS YOUR MOTHER!"

"Christine fell over in fright, not only because Erik yelling was a very scary thing, but because they had named their female child Erik Junior.

* * *

She could barely hold her teacup: her hands were shaking.

"Did I scare you?" Erik asked, putting a tart on her plate. Christine shook her head.

"I… am more worried that you scared June." Erik sighed and rubbed his temples.

"You're worse off than I feared, Christine. You should remember this: June is overly sensitive about her face, but her appearance is not the only trait of mine that she inherited. She has a fierce temper and she is not afraid of anything, even me. Honestly, she is the reason we decided not to have more children. I refuse to bring another smaller version of myself into this world." Christine wondered how they managed that, but Erik obviously saw the look on her face.

"Fanfic magic," he said.

"What?"

"What?" Christine shook her head and put her cup down. Dealing with Erik was one thing, but dealing with a child version of him was quite another. Maybe if she banged her head on the wall, she would pass out and wake up someplace different. She didn't care if Erik was overly nice or… actually, she didn't really want to see the hideous version of Erik again. She would have to deal with this.

"So with the name Erik Junior…"

Erik smiled and shook his head.

"I was hoping for a boy after Angelle and Girianne turned out so well. I thought perhaps my terror wouldn't be passed onto someone else. I was wrong though. Oh, don't get me wrong," he said when he saw his wife's face, "I love June more than life, but if I could change her fate, I would, even if it meant dying. I worry about her future so much. Sometimes I think that it will be harder for her, being a girl. Other times I think that perhaps it's a good thing, as she won't be expected out in society as much as a young man would. She can stay with us until we die and then keep the house."

_That's it, _Christine thought, _this is more depressing than Angebelle's diary._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6- P.S. I Stalk You

When she awoke, prepared for another unpleasant surprise, she heard a loud banging on what sounded like a door. Immediately, her heart sank, for she was once again in a place with doors. That was never a good thing in her new twisted reality.

"Christine! Like, Christine! Omigosh, are you in there? I've been pounding on the door for like, five minutes!" _Meg? _She thought.

"Shut up!" she heard someone else yell, someone she didn't recognize. The voice had sounded like it had come from somewhere below them.

"Wait, aren't we in the bottom cellar?" She asked herself? Then she saw the large windows and the brilliant sunlight filtering through the delicate, lace curtains. Gasping, she ran to the window and looked out. She had a magnificent view of an incredible city, a city with buildings that were taller than any she had ever seen.

"Christine!" Coming back to her senses, she exited her room.

"But… this isn't the-" Meg knocked more ferociously.

"I'm coming!" Christine followed the source of the knock to a door that was situated off of a parlor of some sort. She opened it. There stood Meg, in blonde, bosomous glory, looking incredibly slim and incredibly strange.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, "You overslept. It's Saturday and we're going shopping!" Christine blinked.

"Meg, why is your skirt so short?" Meg looked down at the offending clothing item and then up at Christine like she had gone mad.

"I'm a dancer and I have great legs so I show them off." Christine was puzzled. "Christine. Get dressed already. We're going in five minutes whether you like it or not!" Annoyed, Christine stalked back to her bedroom to find something to wear. She saw that she was in some kind of odd trousers that were much too loose and a thin shirt that barely covered her. She blushed even though there was no one else in the room.

Opening drawers, all she could find were pants. She wondered who else slept… it was best not to go there. Fortunately, she found a little closet full of more clothing and even though it was mostly undergarments, she found some decent things. There was a nice white blouse which looked more like a man's shirt but sized for a woman. There was also a long skirt that seemed a bit thin, even when she put an underskirt on. Looking through the drawers once more, she found stockings that stayed up with no garters. Unfortunately, she could not find any corsets, so she kept on her strange night shirt. As for shoes, she had many choices, but she could only find a few that suited her tastes. They were black. Satisfied, she went to meet Meg.

Meg stared at her as if she were dressed up for _Il Muto. _

"What?" she asked her friend. Meg shook her head.

"Christine, I know you think peasant skirts look good on you, but you're too thin. And… _dress shoes?! _Are you playing with me? Because I take shopping seriously and since I frequently borrow your clothes, I know you have much better outfits than that." The blonde woman took Christine's hand and dragged her back into the bedroom.

Meg rummaged through the drawers and pulled out some of the strange pants.

"Here, jeans. Remember jeans?" Meg meant for her to wear them? It was indecent!

"Don't gape at me, Chris. How do you expect to find a guy when you dress all dowdy? Oh my God, you've given up on finding someone, haven't you!" Meg dropped some short stockings in horror. Didn't Meg know about Erik? Did Erik not exist in this place? No, Erik was always there. He was the only constant. Not his appearance, perhaps…

"What about Erik?" she asked. Meg began to jump up and down.

"Omigod! You met some guy! Some guy named Erik! But… jeez, you're wearing thigh high stockings under your skirt? Is he Amish or something? Here." Meg pulled the skirt down, allowing Christine to step out of it. Meg stared again. "I see."

"You see what?"

"Omigawd, you're meeting him for sex after we go shopping!"

"What?!" Meg was jumping up and down again.

"You're wearing a negligee under your clothes. And the stockings- kinky! So how is he in bed?"

"That, Meg Giry, is an utterly inappropriate question. And these are inappropriate garments and so is your skirt!" Meg laughed.

"Oh, Christine, you don't have to cover. I think it's wonderful that you're getting some again. I mean, after Joe, I didn't think you'd ever date another guy!" Christine didn't even want to know who Joe was. She put on the pants after Meg tugged her stockings off. They were more indecent than she'd feared: they were very tight and showed off the curves of her legs- what little curve there was.

"See? You're totally hot. My boobs are still better but you're totally hot."

"Do people actually wear this, Meg?"

"Only people like us can pull it off," Meg said, resting her chin on Christine's shoulder. "Now come on!" Meg handed Christine a handbag and dragged her out the door.

"I love New York City, don't you?" Meg asked.

"Why would the Phantom of the Opera be in New York City?" Christine wondered out loud.

"What's that?" Meg asked. Christine thought quickly.

"Er… that's what my boyfriend likes to be called." Why was she so bad at thinking quickly?

"Ooh! Kinky!" Meg laughed. "So, what's Erik like? You didn't mention him at all yesterday when we spoke on the phone." Christine kicked herself in her head. Mentally.

"Well… we just met a few days ago and I was a bit nervous about telling you because… he wears a mask all the time."

"Are you kidding?" Meg asked.

"No. And where on Earth are we going?"

"Wherever we can get to in the time that it takes to have this introductory conversation." Christine shook her head again. People kept saying things like that. "So, a mask? All the time?"

"I swear, if you say "kinky" one more time-"

"No, that doesn't sound kinky; it just sounds weird."

"That's why I was worried about telling you." How could she make Erik sound positive? How could she avoid his more worrisome traits? How could she tell this Meg that she was completely in love and make it sound like they had just met? "Erik is so sweet. I just met him, but I can tell that he cares about me very much. I'm just worried about how people will react to the mask he wears." Meg stopped walking.

"Christine, am I, like, totally your best friend?" Christine nodded, unsure why Meg was being so serious all of a sudden when just moments ago she had been acting like an excited child. "Good, because you seem to be really into this guy even though you just met him. That's not a good thing. And I'm suspicious about his mask."

"Oh, but he would never hurt me! He's been leaving me flowers and notes for the past few months and… I just recently agreed to go out with him."

"Christine, he sounds like a stalker."

"He isn't!"

"Chris, I know you're bad with guys and stuff, but normal guys approach women they like. They don't sneak around leaving notes… at least not for _months."_ Christine decided not to tell Meg that Erik had been secretly tutoring her since she was seven or that he was… obsessed with her. It was best to change the subject.

"Meg, if I tell you something, will you promise not to be disturbed?" Meg had a strange, frightened look on her face. "It's not about Erik! Erik is wonderful! It's just… for the past few days… I've been having so much trouble remembering things."

"You mean amnesia?"

"Yes. I know you and I know Erik and I'm pretty sure I know all my friends, but all the details… they're fuzzy." Meg checked her watch.

"Do you want to see a doctor?" That was probably a good idea, but what could be done for her?

"No, just… fill in the blanks for me?" Meg grinned.

"I see what's going on here! You got wasted last night!" Happy that an explanation, however preposterous, had been found, Christine agreed. So she would be considered a drunkard. Drinking would probably help her in this reality, the most confusing yet. It was another century. The newspaper box said '2008.' And she was in another country. How had that happened?

"Well, _amnesiac," _Meg said playfully, "Your name is Christine Marie Daae. You're twenty-five years old and you're one of the best singers at the Popera House, though you wanted to work in advertising, journalism, or wedding planning."

"The Popera House?"

"Yeah. Nobody except rich old people like opera anymore, so the Popera House was set up. It's actually called the Garnier House, but everyone calls it the Popera, which really annoys the managers, Mr. Firmin and Mr. Anderson. I'm a dancer (one of the _best). _We do some traditional stuff, but mostly pop Broadway shows, some ballets and some orchestral shows. My mother works there as a dance instructor."

Christine was slightly surprised, but after the other bizarre realities, this seemed almost normal. Well, except for the "jeans."

"Um… what about Raulph?" Meg's eyes brightened.

"Oh, _Raulph. _You're asking questions about _Raulph Dechaney?" _She wiggled her eyebrows in a way Christine found uncomfortable. "See, now there's a guy for you! He's a patron of the Popera, he's a doctor, he's rich and he's so hot!" Christine sighed. This was wonderful: another future in which people wanted to set her up with a man she considered her older brother.

"And I think Raulph likes you."

At least that hadn't changed.

"Well, I have Erik. I'm not really into the… doctor-type."

"What does Erik do, then?" That was easy enough.

"He writes music. He's wonderful with his organ!" Meg let out a very loud fit of laughter and nearly collapsed on the sidewalk. People walking around them stared. Christine felt humiliated. What had she said?

"Oh, Christine!" Meg wiped tears from her cheeks, "You've made me ruin my eye makeup! But you're hilarious! I don't see why they don't cast you in the more comedy-heavy roles." Meg fixed herself up with a tiny mirror and the pair continued toward their destination. Christine was looking forward to going to a shop. Perhaps she could find more modest clothing that this Meg would approve of.

On the way, Meg pointed to a large building that looked… like the Opera Populaire.

"That's the Popera."

"Lovely as usual." Meg smiled at Christine.

Then Christine saw a banner on the side of the building. It said,

_Coming next week! Andrew Lloyd Webber's famous show, _The Phantom of the Opera! _Sold out!_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7- The Dream of My Dreams, Part 2:

_Christine! Beware, it is not over! Mwa ha ha ha ha! Mwa ha ha ha ha!_

She could have sworn she had dreamed of whispering voices and malicious laughter, but it was so difficult to determine dreams from reality.

She had spent the entire day shopping with Meg, although she had been bewildered by the sign on the opera house. Afterwards, the two young women had returned home to eat popcorn and watch what Meg called "Chick flicks." They were moving images that told stories, which Christine found fascinating. All of them had been about love: women too busy with careers finding men who loved them for their personalities and people from different classes falling in love. It all seemed a bit sentimental and fake to Christine but Meg cried at every one they watched.

Where was she now, though? She knew better than to think that she had returned to Erik's lair. In fact, she had given up on ever going back there. Not seeing Erik in the previous reality had been unnerving.

"Erik?" she asked softly. She sat up. She was not in any room she recognized: this was a beautiful suite filled with tapestries and golden ornaments. There was a fireplace across from her ornate canopy bed and over it was…

The de Changy family crest.

"What am I doing in Raulph's home?" she asked herself quietly. She pulled aside the blankets, which were finely embroidered silks, and tried to stand, but she could not. Instead, she clutched her stomach in pain. It felt as if she had been stabbed.

She fell back onto the bed, wincing.

"Madame?" called someone on the other side of the door. "You have been in bed for a long time. Are you well?"

"I do feel a bit ill," Christine called back, relieved that at least she didn't have to lie this time around. Although the pain was annoying.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform entered. She was going grey and was a bit pudgy, but she was holding what looked like medicine and so Christine was very glad to see her.

"Oh!" the maid gasped when she saw Christine. "You look terrible. Here, Marie Babette Generique will fix you up!" Marie made Christine lie back and fed her a spoonful of something disgusting. "Were does it hurt, Madame Comptess?"

"What?!" Christine clutched her head. "Ooh… all over. Ow."

"Well, Madame, that is not good," the maid said, sounding at once like a mother and a servant, "Because your husband has called for you four times now and pardon me for saying this, but he seems to be in a mood." Christine flinched when Marie ran a cloth over her stomach. "Can you walk, Madame?"

"A little," Christine replied. Marie helped her stand and then assisted her with clothing. Christine wore a pretty morning gown in soft yellow that had ribbons on it. They decided to forego the corset as Christine was still in pain.

As Christine was about to leave the room, Marie pulled something out of her apron pocket. It was a small flask. Christine gratefully took a sip and then exited into the hallway.

Then she realized she had no idea where she was. She had never been inside the de Changy mansion before.

Then she heard a vey frightening, yet still foppish, man's voice yell out:

"Where in God's name is she?!" Christine did not especially want to walk towards that voice, but she knew she must.

"Raulph?" she asked timidly, finding herself in a small study at the end of the hall.

There, standing dramatically in front of a lit fire, was Raulph, who was supposedly her husband. He did not look happy.

In fact, he smashed his glass of brandy on the floor.

"Damn you, Christine! I expect you to rise when I tell you!"

"I-I I'm sorry," she whispered. Then, unexpectedly, she received a hard slap to the face. The pain brought tears to her eyes.

"Bitch! You are fortunate I let you sleep in your room instead of throwing you into the cellar with the maids!"

She remembered. She remembered the dream she had had that first night, the dream where she had woken up right before Raulph had viciously raped her.

This was real.

She began to cry harder. No! Not Raulph! He was a sweet, good-natured man who was willing to protect her at all costs. He was not this prim, glassy-eyed brute.

"You are disgusting," he snarled.

"No," she sobbed, "This was a dream! This isn't real!"

"Ha! If only, you wicked whore! Now, the reason I summoned you is because I need to tell you about your new living arrangements. You are to be kept in the house and you will never go outside. In fact, I think I will lock you in your room. I will, of course, visit you nightly to ensure that I have heirs. Any children you bear will be kept away from you and be told that their mother is a deranged lunatic who can never see them." Christine's mouth dropped open.

"B-but Raulph, that is terrible!" Raulph turned to face her and shook her roughly.

"I can't bear the sight of you! Go back to your room and don't come out!" Christine bit back tears and raced back to her new prison. Marie was still there and she looked distraught at the sight of the sobbing Comptess.

"Why, Marie, why?!" Marie just sighed.

"Madame, that is just how noblemen treat their wives."

Christine shook her head. "No! I-I… leave me alone!" Marie left and Christine collapsed onto her bed.

This reality was the worst yet. She would give anything to be back in that strange city with Meg, or to see the little girls playing, and most of all, to be back with Erik. This was unbearable. She did not want to keep waking up to this. And eventually, she would have Raulph's children… and never see them. And Raulph would keep hurting her. But…

Maybe she could leave. Maybe she could change this reality. Maybe she could find Erik and be happy again.

Yes!

So she waited until nightfall.

* * *

Despite Raulph's warnings that she was to be kept locked in her room, it was surprisingly easy to get out of the de Changy manor. It was as if fate wanted her to leave.

She packed the necessities (money, an extra dress, a brush) into a tiny bag she found in the wardrobe. Then, after midnight, she crept down through a kitchen she found and out into the gardens. After that, she found some spare kitchen maid clothes hanging in a little shed and she put them on. Hiding her hair, she walked to the stables where she found a young man whom she assumed to be the carriage driver asleep on a little cot.

"Psst!" She poked him gently. The boy opened his eyes and squinted.

"What're you doing out here, you complete dip?" he whispered angrily. Christine pulled her scarf tighter around her head and face so that the boy would think she was just a servant girl.

"Please. I need you to take me to Paris. It's not that far and my mother is very sick and has no money for food." The boy eyed her suspiciously. So far she didn't think he had recognized her as his master's wife.

"I'm not supposed to do anything without the master saying so," he told her.

"See, I don't want to come back. Ever. Look," she said, pulling some money out of her bag, "I'll give you…" she had no idea how much a servant should be paid, so she just figured out twice as much as a dancer's weekly salary, "Just… please?"

The stable boy seemed shocked by how much money she had but he also seemed willing to accept it.

"If they catch us, I'll say you blackmailed me." Christine nodded, hoping they wouldn't be caught, and helped the boy get a modest carriage ready.

* * *

Since research is hard, they arrived in Paris in under an hour.

"The streets are dangerous for women at night," the stable boy told her as she got out of the carriage. Christine had told him to drop her off a few blocks away from the opera house so that people searching for her wouldn't find her right away. She knew that Raulph would probably guess where she had gone, but it just seemed like a good idea anyways.

"I will be fine. She's a servant. Well, she is unless they threw her into the street because of her illness." The boy nodded and drove off. Christine wanted to run to the opera, but it would look suspicious, so she walked quietly, avoiding rats.

Now the tricky part. How to get in?

Well, it was surprisingly easy to get into an opera house as well, it seemed. It had burned inside, after all, leaving only the shell. There was a loose grating on one of the windows and Christine climbed inside. She gasped when she saw where she was.

The chapel.

It was sooty and dark, but the candle stand was still there and so was the candle she had always dutifully lit for her father.

Christine walked through the dark and, frankly, dangerous old building. She found her old dressing room and saw that where the mirror had once been, there was now a gaping hole in the wall.

"Erik?" she whispered.

There was no choice but to go down once more once again.

Christine really wished she had clingy Erik's handy list of deadly traps… or a match and torch, but she remembered the way to the lair: go down the tunnel, take a left, down the stairs, down the middle canal and to the lair. To her relief, it worked, and after what seemed like hours, Christine found herself behind a ruined portcullis. She climbed around it, tearing her dress, which was fine since she was already soaked, and peered around her. It was empty and looked as if no one had lived there in years. How much time had passed? She knew that she barely looked any different, but that had been true when she'd had a nine-year-old daughter and two other children. Raulph hadn't looked different either except for the aura of evil he'd adopted.

She walked around Erik's ruined home. It had been ransacked. Everything was gone except for a few worthless pieces of furniture and some papers that were ripped and half water damaged. Christine picked one up and saw a piece of her own face. It was covered with gunk on one side, but it was recognizable. She was looking up at something, smiling as if she was remembering something happy. Erik had captured her so well.

But where was he?

She realized after a few minutes, that if Erik still resided here, it would have looked more presentable. Erik was gone.

Christine found the place where her bed should have been and lay down and cried.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8- A Blessing or a Curse?, Part 2

Christine wondered what would happen if she tried not sleeping. Every time she went to sleep and woke up, the world changed. Perhaps she could find one she liked and simply never sleep.

That world would not be this one.

The realities were starting to repeat now. Before, she had thought her life with Raulph had been a dream and after that, she had woken up to find her Erik. After that, though, had come the world she was least looking forward to: the one where everything was bizarre and different, the one where Erik was a gruesome monstrosity.

So either she would see her Erik again or she would see some stranger who called himself her Erik. When she found herself in the comfortable bedroom and saw her blonde, voluptuous self in the mirror, she knew what lay in store for her.

She felt nothing like the ditzy little girl she had been the first time this had happened. It had only been less than a week, but she had had children, an abusive husband, and had worn trousers. That was enough to sap the innocence out of anyone.

Christine knew she had to go out there and face Erik- whoever he was. Surely he couldn't be worse than the previous day's Raulph, could he?

Slipping on a morning gown, Christine found her way through the tiny and orderly house to the kitchen, where delicious scents awaited her. Her stomach turned at the memory of cuddly!Erik's overly-sugary cooking, but this feast looked much more palatable. There were eggs, rolls, slices of ham, coffee, and a bowl of grapes. The table was decorated with a bouquet of lilies. Finally, something to enjoy in this nightmare. She sat and began to consume her fill. It was delicious. She thought that Erik nearly had a skill to rival his musical talent.

Christine stood when she saw him in the doorway and practically ran over to him and kissed his masked cheek, having to stand on her toes to do so. It was such a relief to see him!

He had that rotting stench. Trying to keep her breakfast from coming up, Christine smiled at Erik. He was horrifying to see, so unbearably thin, but he loved her and that was the important thing, wasn't it?

"Good morning!" she said.

Erik seemed to have frozen.

"Erik?" she asked. He did not reply. "Erik!" she shook one of his shoulders, feeling the bones rattle. Christine gasped. "Oh God, he's dead!" she sunk to her knees. He was so frail! Maybe the kiss had been too much. But... if this Erik was dead, did that mean… Christine began to sob.

"Why are you ruining Erik's expensive oriental carpet?" asked a voice from above her. Erik!

"Erik!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his knees. "You're not dead!" Her embrace caused Erik to topple over and land on his back, nearly hitting his head on a chair.

"Oh God! Erik, no!" Christine wailed, scurrying over to see if he was all right. He was.

"Calm down!" he snapped. Christine swallowed her sobs and looked at him with frightened eyes. His own seemed to soften. "Come now, Christine. Erik is alright, see?" He stood up and offered her his hand. He pulled her to her feet and handed her a handkerchief.

After her face had been sufficiently dried, Christine resumed her breakfast. Erik sat to her side, looking at her. She found it disturbing.

"I'm glad you are not hurt," she told him, ignoring his stare, "I was afraid my kiss caused your heart to stop."

"I'm sure that would be the effect you would have on any man, but yes, do mind Erik's heart. He is not as young as he once was."

Christine stopped before she could put the fork in her mouth.

She had never thought much about Erik's age. In his normal state, he was strong and could not be older than his late thirties. This Erik must be at least fifty, though he was so graceful it was hard to tell.

Erik sensed her trouble.

"Do not worry, Christine!" he said, patting her hand. His own was frigid. "Erik has prepared well in the case that you might become a widow."

Christine sat down her utensil and began to cry again.

"Christine!"

She buried her face in his chest, trying her best to ignore the smell.

"I don't want to be a widow! Don't leave me!"

She felt his fingers in her hair, so thin, so gentle.

"If only I were younger," he sighed.

* * *

After breakfast, Erik decided to give Christine her music lesson. She thought this might take her mind off of his decrepit body and rapidly approaching death.

It did. Sort of.

"You are singing like a drowning kitten!" he hissed, slamming his fingers down on the keys of the piano. Christine winced. "This is not Erik's creation. This is a drunken tavern wench! No- her young daughter singing nursery rhymes for meager francs that her mother will spend on her habit!" He stood up and began to pace.

"Oh, Erik. That is a depressing metaphor," Christine said, welling up again. She hated disappointing Erik. But… the last time she had sung for him, he had found nothing wrong. Then again, she had been a redheaded maid with a pastry for a last name.

"I am sorry, Erik," she said, "Maybe it's that I haven't sung in a while. You know how fragile the voice is."

"Of course I know!" he snapped, "But a few days does not leave the voice like _that. _Something is wrong. It's as if… the Vicomte!"

"The Vicompt?" Christine asked nervously. Had what had happened to her before affected her somehow?

"You're _pregnant _by him, aren't you?"

The piano came crashing onto the floor, making a horrible sound that rang in her ears. Pregnant! What was he talking about? Why did everyone assume she was in love with Raulph? How could Erik think she had defiled her virtue like that? She was a pious Catholic!

"Erik!" she wailed as he stepped menacingly toward her, "I've never been with any man!"

"I heard you proclaim your love for him on the rooftop, Christine. You gave him your heart. What else did you give him?"

Christine could hardly speak or breathe. Her throat would not loosen. Erik was only inches from her.

"B-but I chose _you," _she whispered.

Erik backed away.

"Yes. You pity poor Erik, but you do not love him. Perhaps I was harsh. Your voice no longer belongs to Erik. He has no right to force it out of you."

Before she could protest, he was gone. She could not even see the door he had slipped through.

In her room, Christine ran her hand over her stomach.

It was impossible, wasn't it? The realities couldn't cross over. In one, she was a mother and in another, she lived across the ocean! The terrible version of Raulph couldn't have gotten her pregnant and her Raulph would never do such a thing.

It had to be that this reality had different standards and that she wasn't good enough for Erik here.

She didn't know which thought made her feel worse.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9- The Way Life Should Be, Part 2

She must have stayed in her room for the rest of the day because when she woke up she was in the familiar bedroom with stone walls and a bed from a fairy kingdom.

That meant…

"Angebelle!" Erik cried, practically dancing into her room with a breakfast tray. Christine wondered when she was going to get any other meals besides breakfast.

She looked down and saw Angebelle's ample bosom and cascading locks of silky, auburn hair. She grimaced inwardly.

"You're spoiling me," she said, taking the tray. Erik kissed her head.

"Nothing is too good for my mooshy gooshy."

Perhaps she wasn't hungry. She could smell the sugar, anyways.

"Don't you want your crepes?" Erik asked, "Or would you rather have croissants? An omelet? French fries?"

Christine shook her head.

"The meal we had yesterday left me full."

"Ah, it was splendid, was it not?" Erik said, kissing her hand. "You change. I'll go prepare the practice music."

Christine sighed when she heard the unbearable melodies of _Oklahoma. _But then she heard something else. It was too light to be _Don Juan Triumphant. _In fact, it was almost listenable.

Throwing the ridiculously-colored hair into a loose tie, Christine walked over to Erik and peered over his shoulder. She wondered why he didn't flinch.

"Is this new?"

He grinned at her, pleased with her musical insight. "Yes," he said, "I realized that there probably isn't a large audience for operas sung in English, so I'm writing something new. After the run of our masterpiece, of course," he said, smiling dreamily at the thought of _Oklahoma _being performed for thousands of people.

"What's it called?" Christine asked.

"_L'amore non è tradotto mai, _or, _Love is Never Mistranslated. _It's the story of a young fisherman who is in love with a local girl in the city of Babel before the tower is built. After God divides the languages, they can no longer understand each other and their families command them to move to the opposite ends of the Earth."

Christine noticed that Erik's eyes were glistening sadly at the prospect of doomed love.

"It will be sung in Italian, then?" she asked. Erik nodded.

"Would you like to hear some?"

When she agreed, he began:

_Angibella: Pesci, pesci. Se avessi un desiderio, sarebbe di sposare questo uomo dei pesci_

_Pescotti: Pesci, pesci. Tutto che faccia è pesce. Per avere Angibella è il mio desiderio allineare._

_Angibella: Oh, arrampicherei in su quella torretta laggiù._

_Pescotti: Svenderei il mio dimenamento più fine._

_Both: Se il dio e la città di Babele assegnino…_

_Angibella: Quell'uomo dei pesci!_

_Pescotti: Il mio desiderio più caro!_

"So, what do you think?" Erik asked after he had played this sample. Christine paled. She didn't want to hurt his feelings again.

"Well, I really like the plot?"

Erik beamed.

"I do, too! I thought it was a great idea to delve into more classical subject matter. Audiences really like that kind of thing."

"I thought they liked bawdy humor and adultery?"

"Please, mooshy. You're underestimating them. They'll love this Biblical tragedy. I named the main character after you, by the way."

"You don't say."

"I do say! It is a testament to our love!"

"I thought that was _Oklahoma."_

"No, that is a testament to our dreams. I swear to you, Angebelle. Someday I will take you far from this musty cave and to the sunny plains of Oklahoma!"

Christine had heard this story before, and she knew that it was Angebelle's dearest wish, but screw Angebelle.

"Is there opera in Oklahoma, Erik?"

"Pardon?" He stared at her.

"I don't want to go far from the music that we love so much. I would live here forever if it would mean being able to sing for you."

"B-b-b-b-but Angebelle, we've been planning our move to Oklahoma for weeks! We're leaving after you finish the run of the opera."

Christine's heart wanted to run out of her body and kick him in the teeth.

"That's only a few weeks away!"

"Yes, and soon we will have a little farm. Just like you wanted. And a hoard of children who will help us milk the cows and harvest the wheat and all that."

"No, Erik! This isn't what you want! Where will the music be?"

"The music will be in the lullabies you sing for our children and in the golden hue of the wheat fields. It will be in the crow of the rooster and you'll hear it every time I kiss you."

It was Christine's turn to gape at _him._

"You're a musical genius, Erik! You couldn't give up composing to work on a farm! You couldn't!"

She expected him to throw a fit like the other Erik had, but this one only began to cry large, crystalline tears. His lip quivered juvenilely.

"I wanted what you wanted! And what you wanted was a farm in Oklahoma!" He stood up and raced out of the room, still sobbing.

"I've done it again. No matter what I say, there's no pleasing all these Eriks. I always end up upsetting someone," she muttered, glaring at "her" reflection in the mirror. "They all want different things. Two of them aren't even there. This is getting ridiculous! Well," she mused, poking Angebelle's disproportionate breasts, "More ridiculous."

* * *

She wondered what would happen if she tried sleeping away the rest of the day as usual, but she knew that she would wake up to a house full of children who were expecting her to be a good mother, especially the deformed one. She was only sixteen! She had no idea how to be a mother.

"I can't just wish everything would go back to normal," she muttered, "I don't know why, but I can't. I have to fix my relationships. All…" She tried counting them on her fingers, but the endless number of Eriks and friends was giving her a headache. "I suppose I'll start here. But what can I do trapped in this body? What am I- Am I saying this all out loud?"

_That's better. Am I supposed to be me or Angebelle?_

She decided to go find Erik.

The lair looked normal, only a bit cleaner, but she couldn't figure out where he'd gone. The boat was still there on the vast, glassy lake, but there was no man. All she could see was the greatroom with the organ and all the drawings.

But she could hear soft sobs. And there was only one other person down here (hopefully). She followed the sound until she came to one of the infinite banks of mirrors. The sobbing seemed to be coming from behind one of the panes.

"Erik!" she called. Either he was ignoring her or crying so loudly that he couldn't hear. She tried to find a hidden button that would open the mirror, but there wasn't one, at least not that she could see.

Then she remembered that there were no doors down here. Grabbing a nearby candelabrum and blowing out the candles, she raised the heavy bronze and brought it down hard on the mirror. It shattered and Christine heard a cry of fright.

"Erik!" she called again, stepping through the mirror. The room was very dim, having no lights, and she could barely make out a figure perched on a modest bed.

"What do you want?" he asked, burying his face in his knees.

"I want to apologize. I knew you were excited about going to Oklahoma, but I didn't know you were planning to give up your music. That doesn't seem like you at all. I mean, you were the angel of music."

Erik looked up at her. "Honestly, Angebelle, you've been frightening me for the past few days. Before, you were like this beautiful but broken little child who lit up whenever I did something nice for you. I really wanted to make your dreams come true. Now you have this bizarre maturity. You don't seem like yourself at all."

Christine wondered how this Erik had come to have such a revelation. Maybe she should have tried harder to act in that moronic fashion that he was. This version of him seemed to be suited for the sad and silly Angebelle. She wondered if he was her Erik at all.

She had to say something.

"I think," she said, sitting down beside him on the bed, "That I was just so thrilled to find a place that would accept me. Being here is like a drug." _A poisonous one, _she added silently.

"Are you saying none of what happened before was real?"

"No, it was real. It's just… am I real?" This wasn't going well. She had to think of something else. "I told you about my past?" she asked.

"Five minutes after you met me."

"Right. Well, it was just so tragic. I've been so happy since I met you, but now I'm… having horrible dreams." She feigned horror by covering her face with her hands and sniffling a little.

"Oh, Angebelle! I will never let that man hurt you. Never! He cannot find you here."

"I know, that, Erik. But… but…" she buried her face in his chest. This was too much. She almost laughed. She knew it was kind of cruel to be laughing at Angebelle's past, but her story was so melodramatic that it was unbelievable and silly.

Fortunately, Erik took her suppressed laughter for sobs.

"I think we could have a happy life in Oklahoma," Erik said. "Maybe we could even find your brother."

"Brother? Oh, him. Yes. Oh, how I miss him."

"Gracious! If you don't hurry, you'll be late for rehearsal!" Christine jumped up and ran to her room to change.

* * *

"The show is progressing marvelously, Monsieur Reyer," said Monsieur Generique du French, looking at the worn out cast and crew members who had just finished a full dress rehearsal.

"It should be. It opens tomorrow," Monsieur Reyer said under his breath. He hated managers. Christine was glad that most of the faces around her were familiar.

"And mademoiselle du Croissant was absolutely stunning. What a voice!" the new manager continued.

"Hmph!" said Marplotta, the woman who had replaced Carlotta until Angebelle had made her debut. Marplotta, who looked strangely like somebody Christine had known, only much fatter, had been placed in the chorus.

"Oh, Angebelle!" Meg ran up to her as everyone filed off the stage. "You were perfect!"

Christine wondered why Meg was treating a strange person like a close friend, but she was just glad to have someone else to talk to.

"Thank you, Meg. From what I saw of your dancing, you were quite good as well."

Meg blushed.

"I didn't know you knew anything about dance. It wouldn't surprise me, though. You're brilliant at everything."

"Right. Listen. I wanted to ask you something." Meg looked thrilled to be consulted for information. "What can you tell me about Christine Daae?"

Meg's eyes grew wide. "Christine? Who told you about Christine?"

"Well, she had one of the most popular debuts in the history of the Opera Populaire, didn't she? I've heard of her."

"Yes, she was a good singer," Meg said, "Too bad she was such a bitch."

"A _what?" _Christine gasped, "When was I…. er, when was she ever a… that?"

"Well," Meg continued, "You've probably heard the tales of the Phantom of the Opera. Some people say he was a real person. I actually went down to his lair." Meg spoke like a person who had just met royalty. "He _was _real. Anyways, Christine was having an affair with him and that's how she got to be the prima donna. She had a nice voice, I guess, but she was scrawny and a wooden actress."

"B-but..."

"Wait, you haven't heard the best part!" Meg exclaimed like a gossipy little girl, "Then she seduced a Vicompt! But the Phantom was mad, because he kidnapped her. No one has heard anything from all three of them since."

So in this world, she was a bitch who had seduced two men. Actually, she had heard that rumor in her own reality, but _Meg _hadn't believed it.

"Poor Raulph de Changy. Poor Phantom," Meg sighed.

"Stop. I understand." Christine stalked off and to her dressing room, where she promptly entered Erik's domain through the mirror. It had been a long day.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10- Every Woman's Dream, Part 2

"No, I don't want to go on," she mumbled, turning over in bed, "Don't want to sing… Okla…homa. Mmm." She opened her eyes.

It was the quaintly decorated bedroom that overlooked the seaside again. She groaned. She really didn't want to deal with mommy issues again.

Strangely, there was no breakfast tray and no little girls bouncing up and down on the bed this time. What had happened? Was that only because she had been ill?

She made her way down to the kitchen, taking note of the clock in one of the hallways. It was nearly eight in the morning. Surely someone was awake by now?

"Good morning, Madame!" said a round woman in kitchen clothing. Christine assumed she was the cook. Because she was cooking.

"Good morning," Christine replied.

"I've prepared you some toast. I know it's your favorite."

At least there would be something she actually liked to eat in this reality. She tried to remember the toast she had eaten last time she had been here, but the childhood dramas had interrupted her breakfast.

"Thank you. Do you know where my husband went?" She waited until the cook set down a plate of toast and eggs as well as a glass of juice.

"He ate breakfast around five and then set off for his trip to Paris."

"He went to Paris?"

The cook looked at her strangely.

"He's getting his newest composition published. I would think he would tell his own wife." Christine mentally slapped herself again. She had to stay on her toes.

"There's just been so much excitement lately," She said, hoping it was true.

"Ah, I imagine so." The cook wore the most puzzling expression. She looked at her with a knowing and proud smile. "This has been an exciting few months for all of us."

Was she pregnant again? Christine hoped not. She didn't want to experience pregnancy before she experienced marriage.

She heard footsteps behind her and a tall, slender blonde woman walked into the kitchen. Christine had no idea who she was, but she was beautiful. A houseguest perhaps?

"Good morning, Mama!" the woman said cheerfully.

Mama?

"Angelle?" The woman smiled daintily. How could this be her daughter? Last time, she had been nine years old and now…

Christine looked at her hands. They showed no signs of age. How was that possible?

"Is something the matter, Mama?" Angelle asked.

"It's just… you look so beautiful, Angelle."

The girl beamed.

"I think it's because the universe knows I'm going to be a bride!"

Christine wanted to scream, but she knew she had to keep up appearances. So now her supposed child was old enough to wed?

"Oh, Mama!" Angelle sighed like a woman in a poem, "Was this how it felt when you met Papa? All day long I do nothing but think of Jacques and at night I dream that we are sitting side by side forever and ever!" The girl did some impractical, lovesick twirls around the breakfast table and sat gracefully in a chair. "I'm floating!" she sighed dreamily. Christine felt like she was back in Cuddly!Erik's home.

She tried to remember how it had felt when she had first met Erik. She had been seven years old. She tried to remember when she had first seen him face-to-face. That hadn't gone too well. But then she remembered the way he had looked at her so many realities ago, stroking her hair and trying to convince her that his name wasn't "Ernie." How could she have been so stupid?

"It is a magical feeling, isn't it?" she told her daughter, who grinned. Christine couldn't help but smile. Of all the things that could have become of her and Erik, this was hardly the worst. Their children seemed happy for the most part.

"Angelle!" came a voice from the adjoining room. A merry young woman also practically danced into the kitchen. Christine's mouth dropped open when she saw who it was.

It was herself.

"Giri!" squealed Angelle, standing to hug her sister.

Girianne looked exactly like the way Christine remembered being, from the mass of curls to the soft curve of the chin. Christine picked up a spoon and looked at her warped reflection. She saw no signs of age other than wearing a more matronly gown. How were people supposed to know who was the mother and who was the daughter?

"Good morning, Mama!" Girianne said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and sitting down beside her to await food.

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Christine asked.

Girianne grinned. "Angelle and I are going to Paris to peruse bridesmaid's gowns! Papa said we could go as long as we return before night and don't buy anything."

"It's going to be difficult," Angelle said, "I know Papa is already ordering me a large number of new gowns for when I am married, but I just want to buy more!"

"And shoes!" squealed Girianne.

"Yes! We're going to have to find you the perfect pair to match your bridesmaid's gown!"

Christine's ears were hurting from all of the exclamation points. She decided to change the subject.

"Why not take June with you?"

The girls were silent. They looked at their mother as if she had proposed burlap for the wedding gown.

"Mama…" began Girianne.

"Well, isn't she going to be a bridesmaid, too? She's your sister."

Girianne and Angelle exchanged looks.

"I would love for June to be in my wedding, Mama, but we're having a large wedding. People could _see _her."

"She doesn't like going to societal events." Girianne added.

"But people accept your father."

"He's a man," Angelle said. Girianne nodded. "It's alright for him to have "burn scars.""

"Yes," Girianne agreed, "On a woman, it's just disgraceful. Besides, if people knew what her face actually looked like, they would stop socializing with us."

"And Jacques would never want to marry me!" Angelle said.

"So what is June going to do?" Christine asked.

"She's going to stay home and send me happy thoughts," Angelle said.

Christine frowned. "I think she might want to go to her own sister's wedding."

"Of course she would, Mama, but…"

"She's deformed!" chimed in Girianne, "She might as well have leprosy."

Christine was about to protest when a man entered and announced that someone had asked to see the master of the house. Erik was gone, so it was up to her to greet the visitor.

The girls followed Christine to the entry hall. It was then that Christine noticed that they were both impossibly tall, which she assumed they got from their father.

Standing there was a young man dressed impeccably and richly with stunningly coiffed hair and all those other signs that scream "I'm a rich guy!" The girls gasped and then giggled girlishly when he bowed to them and kissed their hands.

"Madame, mademoiselles, I am truly sorry to disrupt your day, but my carriage has broken down right outside your fine home and I must ask to borrow another if you have one."

"Oh, Gerard," Girianne said, addressing the butler, "We have plenty of carriages, do we not?"

"Indeed, young mistress. Madame," he said, turning to Christine, "Shall I inform the stable boy and have him ready a replacement?"

Christine nodded. "Yes, do that. Please take a seat in the drawing room while it is prepared, good sir. Shall I have the cook fetch you a drink?"

The young man smiled. "That would be most lovely, Madame Destler."

"Destler? Our surname isn't Destler, sir," Angelle told him.

"Oh, pardon! I thought this was the Destler residence," the young man said with a look of great embarrassment on his face.

"It's Fantôme," Angelle corrected.

"Well, sister," Girianne giggled, "Soon yours won't be."

"Oh, true!" Angelle giggled back. Christine wasn't sure how it was possible to giggle words, but her daughters were managing the feat.

They heard someone descending the stairs.

"Mother, what is with all the giggling?" someone asked. It was June. Christine studied her. She was beautiful, not as ridiculous as Angebelle, but slender and pale with dark hair and reasonable breasts. She held a violin and bow in her hands. The only thing ruining the perfect image was her tiny, porcelain mask.

"Oh," the girl said when she saw the visitor. Christine thought she saw the desire to flee in her daughter's eyes, but she was transfixed by something. Likewise, the young man could not take his eyes from the masked girl.

"A third daughter?" he said, 'I am sure that she is engaged as well. What a vision!"

Angelle and Girianne looked horrified. Christine was just confused. June murmured a soft "thank you."

"Do you play music, mademoiselle?" the young man asked even though she was holding an instrument.

Girianne shot Angebelle a look and the blonde nodded.

The middle sister stepped to the young man's side and respectfully placed her hands on his arm. "Oh, but you should hear her sing! She has the most enchanting voice!" Girianne dragged her sister over to the piano in the corner of the room.

"Will I be casting myself into the sea if I hear her?" the visitor asked, laughing.

"You might," Girianne said. She took a seat on the piano bench and played a chord. June did nothing. "Sing!" her sister hissed. They had some kind of nonverbal disagreement.

"June," Christine said, anxious to avoid hair pulling, "Please sing. You have a beautiful voice and the poor young man needs something to keep his spirit up for the journey home." She hoped that the other two were right about June's talent.

June's face reddened, but she straightened her back, no doubt like her father had taught her, and pushed her raven hair behind her ears.

"_Please, please forgive me, but I won't be home again," _she began.

It was a beautiful and sad ballad about being ignored and unloved. It was awfully morbid for a fifteen-year-old girl, as Christine estimated her to be.

"And that," Girianne announced when the song had finished, "Was _Manquant,_ written and performed by our own Erik Amélie Fantôme!"

Angelle cheered.

Christine remained stunned by June's voice. It had not only been beautiful, but somehow other-wordly, the true voice of the sirens. The girl had not solely inherited her father's face and coloring.

The boy had risen and walked over to June. He quite brazenly took her hands in his.

"That was astounding, nay, there are no words beautiful or worthy enough to describe your voice, Mademoiselle Erik!"

June's pale blue eyes glistened. "Thank you… you."

"Oh, pardon me once more! All of you," he said, bowing once more to all of the ladies. "My name is Hubert de Changy, Vicompt de Changy."

Before they could process this information, a large man in a mask came barreling into the room.

"Christine!" he yelled, "I saw a carriage outside with the de Changy crest on it! What-" he stopped when he saw an attractive blond man holding his youngest daughter's hand. "You!" he yelled, "Out!"

The poor young Vicompt was shaking in fear of the hulking masked man.

"Are you the master of this house, sir?" He realized he was holding June's hand. "I beg your pardon! She was singing so beautifully-"

"OUT!" Erik cried, sending the poor young man flying out the door.

June began to wail. "Father, how could you?! I am desperately in love with him!"

"No daughter of mine will ever marry a de Changy!" Erik roared.

"But he was the only boy who ever looked at me without cringing! He heard my voice and-"

"It never works that way!"

"It did for you and mother!"

"It doesn't work that way for people with vaginas!"

"I hate you!" June screamed, running out of the room. Her sisters quickly followed, frightened of their father's temper.

Christine tensed. Erik's attention turned to her.

"How could you let him in here?!"

Christine rose to her feet in a flash. "Stop shouting at me!" she shouted, getting up in his face, no easy task. "Sit down and take a breath!" she demanded, forcing the rather large man onto the couch. He was nearly two heads taller than her and she was rather small. She collapsed on the floor from the effort.

"Firstly," she panted, "Don't shout at my children or at me. Secondly, the poor boy needed a carriage and I did not know his identity. Thirdly, Raulph has _nothing _to do with this. I am _your _wife. Raulph has quite obviously moved on and raised a charming child."

Erik sulked on the couch. "Can't the de Changy brats stick to their own class? Why are they always so attracted to my handiwork?"

Christine smiled. "Her voice has gotten quite beautiful. I wouldn't hold a grudge against the boy. Besides, she's never had a boy pay any attention to her. Be nice."

"Her voice should be heard in the finest opera houses of Europe, not the gaudiest manor houses," Erik sniffed.

* * *

Leaving Erik to his business, Christine went to find her youngest hellspawn. She found her in an ornate music room filled with old pianos, violins, and many other instruments. June was sawing furiously at her violin.

"That sounds rather angry."

June looked up and removed her chin from the rest.

"It's a new composition, "Father is Completely Evil and I Hate Him.""

Christine sighed. "He's just upset because when I was young…ger, he had to compete with a handsome nobleman for my affection. He's not fond of the species."

"Really, mother?" June asked eagerly, "You've never told us this."

"Well," Christine said, choosing her words carefully, "You girls idolized your father and it was all a silly, ancient misunderstanding. So, you've been writing new music?" she asked.

June grinned. "Would you like to hear the piece I wrote for Angelle's wedding? I know I cannot go, but I thought you might sing it."

Christine smiled and listened to her daughter's song.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11- P.S. I Stalk You, Part 2

It was morning once more. Christine had decided to retire early, exhausted from the ordeal with Hubert de Changy and her moody husband and daughter.

Yawning, she sat up and, as she had predicted, found herself in the apartment in New York City in the year 2008.

She yelped when she realized that there was someone in her bed.

"Mmph. Good morning to you, too, Chris," said a familiar voice. The figure rolled over and Christine saw Meg Giry.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, it was really late and we have rehearsal today. I set your alarm for you, by the way. When did you become such a scatterbrain? Oh, wait. Erik." She gave her friend a cocky grin.

"That man gives me such a headache," Christine sighed, trying to recall which Erik had been the least unpleasant."

"Hmm. Only yesterday you were raving about how wonderful he is."

Christine wanted to smack herself again. "Well, you know… men."

Meg laughed. "Yah, men." The blonde got off the bed with a graceful leap. "I'm using your shower, and then we're running through the script. I want to get the duet down."

* * *

The script for _The Phantom of the Opera _was strange. It was as if someone had recorded her entire time at the Opera Populaire, except for some changes. This play ended with her leaving with some guy called "Raoul" and it was set in 1881 instead of 1870 and the chandelier fell during _Il muto _instead of _Don Juan Triumphant. _Other than that, it was eerily similar to her life.

Meg had wanted to run through the "Angel of Music" scene, which Christine found odd since Meg wasn't a singer, but for fun, they had gone through the whole script, which was a relief to Christine since the show was opening in less than a week.

She found it wasn't very hard to play her part. The dialogue seemed as though it had been ripped from her memory and even the opera music was the same. At least she would know her part well. She only had to concentrate on some extra numbers like "The Phantom of the Opera" and "All I Ask of You."

Before long, Christine found herself on stage at the Popera in full dress.

"I'm so proud of all of you," said Mr. Jamoc, the show's director. "Now, we have some special guests here today to watch the rehearsal, so break a leg!" he said. Christine looked out into the auditorium and her heart stopped.

There, in the audience, was Raulph de Changy, or his 2008 counterpart. There were some other finely dressed people with him, but she saw only him. And then he smiled at her.

She turned away and tried to remember the marks from the script she had browsed that morning.

"We'll start at "Angel of Music,"" Mr. Jamoc said.

Christine stood in the tiny model of a dressing room that had been set up on stage. Meg came bursting through the prop door, excited.

"_Where in the world have you been hiding?" _she sang. Christine had heard Meg sing earlier, but not to her full potential. She had never known Meg could sing. Her voice wasn't operatic, but it was very sweet and childlike.

After that and a scene with the man playing "Raoul," it was time for the Phantom's entrance. Christine gulped. Was this the part where Erik came in?

Fake smoke began to filter in and Christine heard a booming voice. Her heart rose. It was so powerful and enchanting! Surely…

She answered the "Phantom" and began to walk towards the mirror. It opened dramatically and…

Christine missed her cue.

"Stop!" the director called. The lights came back on. "Are you okay, Christine?"

"Er, yes. I… don't know what happened." She looked at what she could see of the Phantom's face. "Who are you?"

The man blinked. "I'm your co-star, Miguel." He turned to Mr. Jamoc. "I think something's wrong with her." Miguel led her off stage and into one of the auditorium seats. A group of people crowded around her.

"She was like this yesterday, too," Meg said, feeling her forehead. "Something's wrong with her memory. I can take her to the doctor."

Mr. Jamoc nodded. "Yes. We'll have the understudies fill in for you."

* * *

Three hours later, Christine and Meg were escorted back to the waiting room after a very dull doctor's appointment. Christine was scandalized. The doctor had been male and she was told to put on a man's night shirt! What would they have done if she had had some other type of problem?

"There's nothing physically wrong with you, Ms. Daae. If you're having problems with your memory, I'd recommend going to see a psychiatrist. I have the number of a doctor who comes highly recommended. Here's his card." Christine took it and thanked the doctor.

"Are you really okay, Chrissy-wissy?" Meg asked.

"I'm fine. Maybe I _should _see this head doctor." She looked at the card. _Doctor Eric Fantome, _it read. "Yes, I should definitely see this doctor."

* * *

Meg had helped her arrange the appointment but had then had to rush off to dance class. She promised to check up on her later.

Christine was quite bored and decided to get something to eat. Meg had prepared all of the meals the last time she had been in this reality, even providing the popcorn.

She looked through all the cupboards but could only find strangely-packaged foods that she didn't understand. Not feeling up to a "pop tart," a "hot pocket," or a "lean cuisine," she decided to find a market. They had passed a few of them on the way to the Popera. Surely there would be edible food in one of them.

She left the apartment, making sure to take more than enough money, and walked outside and onto the street. It was nearing dinner time and she was very hungry. This would have to be quick.

She spotted a little store called "Destler Organic Grocery." Recognizing the name, she thought it was a good sign. Sure enough, there was plenty of produce and ingredients for baked goods. She wasn't a great cook, but the items here would suit her just fine. She found fruits, eggs, unsliced bread, flour, and some other items and went to the counter to purchase them. Judging by the prices, she had done right to bring extra money. Everything in this time was expensive!

"Thank you, sir," the clerk said to the man in front of her, "Please visit us again soon." The man nodded and turned to leave. That's when Christine recognized him.

"Erik!" she exclaimed.

The man was tall with broad shoulders and dark hair. Most importantly, he had a white mask on one side of his face. It was definitely Erik.

He looked at her strangely and turned to leave. Christine panicked.

"Erik!" she called as he walked out of the store. She looked at her basket full of groceries and set it on the floor, taking off after the love of her life.

Erik could walk fast and the sidewalks were crowded with people. But Christine could see him because he was slightly taller than the rest. She shoved past people, calling his name at first but stopping when her voice grew tired. Erik had always taught her never to shout too much or she would injure her voice. So she silently followed him until they were on a much quieter street. He turned when he heard her footsteps.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, annoyed.

Christine panted from the brisk walk. "Erik," she said, "Don't you remember me? Christine?"

Erik tightened his lips. "Look, Christine, I'd hate to call the police on a woman," he said, "Especially since they wouldn't believe me," he muttered, "But I don't know you. Leave me alone."

Christine wanted to cry. Leave him alone? What was going on?

"I can't leave you, Erik," she said softly, "I love you."

"Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm reaching for my phone." His hand was inching along his hip. It was only a warning, but she had no doubt that he would make good on it if she persisted.

It wasn't fair. Her own Erik had leapt into the lake to embrace her when she had told him that. Now this imposter who looked so much like him was rejecting her. And how did he fit a telephone in his pocket?

"You're right, you don't know me. I was confusing you for someone else."

"A man over six feet tall with a mask and named Erik?" his smirk would have made her laugh if she hadn't been so exhausted and emotionally drained and heartsick from the past week. A week from Hell.

"Yes, actually."

The strange Erik was rendered speechless for a moment. But then he seemed to have thought of something. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

"I've already been assigned one. But I'm not crazy!" she said when she saw his horrified face, "I'm in love with a man named Erik. He's six feet tall and wears a mask because the right side of his face is deformed and I can't find him. We were going to get married and… then he was just gone!" She began to cry.

Erik approached her. "I don't want to distress you," he said, "But I think you're having delusions after a bad breakup."

Christine felt like banging her head on a wall.

"So I just happened to invent, fully formed in my mind, a tall, muscular, masked composer named Erik with dark hair and blue eyes and then run into you?" She felt him tense.

"A composer?"

"Yes. He was working on his own variation of the Don Juan story. Everyone thought it was unlistenable, but _they _weren't being groped on a bridge." She looked at the doppelganger. He seemed to be in shock. She waved a hand in front of his face and cried out when he gripped her wrist so hard she felt her joint crack.

"I thought you were nuts, but it's just too coincidental. _I _am a composer and _I _am writing a Don Juan opera which my few friends have deemed unsellable."

Christine's eyes lit up. It _was _him!

"Erik!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek where his mask ended.

Erik peeled her off of him, obviously surprised by the kiss. "But I can't be your Erik, Christine. I've never met you."

Christine smiled. "Then how do I know what you look like under your mask?"

It was a huge gamble, she knew, but other than the completely horrifying Erik, the others had all had the same face from what she could tell. When she saw his shocked expression, she knew the risk was worth it.

"You can't… Prove it!" He demanded, "Describe every grizzly little feature."

Christine cleared her throat. "Well, at first it looks like a horrible burn, but if you look closely, most of the flesh seems more tumered than burnt. Your eyelid is stretched and saggy and there are a lot of little pockmarks that stretch into your hair and over your eyebrow, which is pretty much non-existent. There are scaly ridges everywhere and they feel hardened and leathery and you can see all of the veins pulsating and-"

"Okay, you know! God, you're grossing out the person who _has _the deformity."

"Sorry."

Erik's face softened. "But how can you stand it?"

Christine knew what she had to say.

"Your love for me is far more frightening than your face. Hey, alliteration!"

Erik was simply staring at her. "Are you an angel sent to me? I've always thought that God hated me."

Christine grinned. "I've learned that there are no angels." She stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders. He took her face in his hands. He bent down, his warm breath on her lips and-

"Christine!"

They parted instantly and turned to the owner of the voice. In a flash, Christine was being suffocated by Meg Giry's gazonkas.

"God, Christine! I went back to your apartment to check on you and you were, like, gone! You didn't even leave a note and-" Meg became aware of someone else's presence. "Is this…?"

Christine removed herself from Meg's grasp and placed a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Erik."

Meg stared. Finally, set let out an overwhelmed "Hubba, hubba!" Erik's face (the visible part) turned tomato-red.

"Anyways," Meg said, pulling on Christine's arm, "We have to go. Jamoc called an emergency rehearsal."

"Jamoc?"

Christine turned to Erik. He had a stunned look on his face.

"Thomas Jamoc? Director at the "Popera?"" He said it with a sneer. "You work at the _Popera?" _he asked Christine, sounding heartbroken. He turned on his heel and stalked off without letting her speak.

"Erik, wait!" Christine called. He did not turn back.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12- The Dream of My Dreams, Part 3

She had been so close. She had thought that earning the love of all the Eriks would break the curse and let her return to normal, but none of the realities were that simple.

Especially this one, she thought when she awoke and realized that she was lying on a ripped cloth on the stone floor of Erik's empty lair. Would she have to find this Erik, too?

She heard someone singing.

"_Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair, down once more to the prisons of my mind…"_

Could it be?!

She had no idea why she was hiding, but she crawled into one of the corners of the bedroom and peered out.

It was indeed him. He looked exactly as she remembered, only he was wearing strange work clothes and had disguised himself with a different wig and mask. So he looked nothing at all like she remembered, really.

"It looks like they ransacked the place. And… how have homeless people been living here? The traps should have killed them."

He was coming closer.

"It sure is nice to monologue so that anyone listening (not likely) could understand my motivations for returning to this godforsaken place. Well, I wasn't planning on it, but business brought me to Paris and I just thought, "Why not?" Why not revisit my horrible past?"

He was standing right over her. Just one look…

"You can't hide from me, Madame." He flinched when she did. "Don't worry. This place is much more your home than mine, I suppose. You've chosen an awfully dangerous sanctuary, though."

Didn't he recognize her? Now she would have to reveal herself and she had no idea why she was so afraid. Judging by Raulph's story, she had been the Comptess de Changy for nearly two whole months. Erik was probably still either very hurt or very angry.

"Are you mute?" Erik asked. Christine dared to look into his eyes, which shone in the dim cavern. He could probably see her perfectly, though. It had to be the head scarf and the servant's clothing.

As she was about to speak, he turned and stepped back into the main room. She followed.

"They even took my mannequin. What perverts. Oh," he said, when he saw her, "You're following me now? That's probably a bad choice. The last woman who did that got her heart broken. I was showing her the way to the cobbler's and the carriage plowed right into her. Right through the chest."

He gloomily walked to the place where his organ had been. It had likely been smashed and sold in parts. Christine hoped that the vandals had choked on their wine.

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude." _His voice was as beautiful as ever. When was the last time she had heard Erik sing? During that horrible fish Babel opera? _"Say you'll want me with you here, beside you…"_

Christine took a deep breath. _"Anywhere you go, let me go, too. Erik, that's all I ask of you!" _She briefly wondered how Erik had gotten a hold of Webber's script, but it didn't matter too much, she supposed. Either way, she knew the words.

It was Erik's reaction she was truly worried about.

He was staring. She stared back.

"Christine? Or, should I say, Comptess de Changy?"

She cringed. "I deserve your contempt for coming back here. It's selfish of me to play with your heart like this. But I had to come back."

"Why? What on Earth would possess you to leave your cozy little castle to slum it in the dungeon? Were you expecting me to wait around here, crying over you?"

"A little?"

Erik shrugged. "Well, I was upset, but I couldn't stay here."

"I understand, but I couldn't stay _there."_

He looked at her suspiciously. "What did the little choir boy do? Treat you too nicely?"

She had a feeling that Erik would hunt down and murder Raulph if she told Erik what had happened. "He could tell that I was unhappy and that made him unhappy. I couldn't stand doing that to him." She tried her best to think of the true Raulph instead of the evil version from this twisted reality.

"So you came looking for happiness here?"

Christine wondered how he could ask such a question. "My happiness is with you. I'm sorry that I tried to live a lie."

"It's been so long, Christine. Sixty whole days of anguish. I don't think I've gotten over what you did."

"What _I _did? I agreed to stay here and then you told me to- No, no arguments now. Erik, my heart is strong enough for you. I know it is. Please."

His brow furrowed. "How did you find out my name?"

* * *

The carriage Erik had rented bounced merrily down the street. Christine couldn't believe what had happened. Not only had Erik broken down and cried with her and completely forgotten the name thing, but he had agreed to take her to the new place in which he had settled.

Italy! They were taking the next train straight to Rome.

"Do you write operas there?" she asked, still clutching his hand.

"Yes. Mostly I work on commissions, though. I've been moderately successful. You will have a good life there, Christine. Maybe you could even sing. I'm sure you will thrill the Italians with your voice."

"I'd like that." She smiled and glanced at the Parisian buildings flying past. It would be hard to leave the city where she had spent most of her life, but if she was with Erik she wouldn't mind. "So why did you go to Italy?"

"I don't really know. I thought about going to Coney Island, but that just seemed stupid. I can't ask everyone to give up everything for my sake. I learned that when you left. Besides, I've always liked Rome. It's easy to hide there with all of those old buildings and sewers and the opera there is simply stunning."

The carriage stopped and the driver helped the two passengers out. They didn't have much luggage, only the bundle Christine had packed and the small trunk Erik owned.

They purchased tickets and boarded the train. Erik had paid handsomely for a private compartment and the two settled in, watching passengers entering and exiting the station.

Christine looked at Erik. He was going over and rewriting some sheet music that he had brought along, humming small bits of it when he felt the need.

As good as this life sounded, this still wasn't her Erik. She had to remember that. This was a world where she was the runaway wife of a powerful nobleman. She and Erik could never be married.

That's when she realized she was in a very public place. She scooted as far away as she could from the window and ducked down a bit.

"When does the train leave?" she asked.

Erik checked his pocket watch. "Any time now." They heard a whistle and felt the train start up. Someone called for last-minute boarders. "Ah, there we go," Erik said, giving her a smile and returning to his work. Christine was feeling very antsy and wished she had brought something to entertain herself. She snuck a peek out the window and sighed with relief as the train began to move. Raulph had not tracked her down, though she felt that Erik would have thought of something in that scenario.

"Would you like something to eat?" Erik asked.

"Later, perhaps. Right now I'd just like to enjoy your company." She moved to his side of the compartment and pecked him on the cheek. "Are you going to work the whole way? I'm bored."

Erik kissed the back of her hand. "Just let me finish this page, my dear."

Christine fell asleep that night hoping that the next time she was sent here, she would wake up in Italy with Erik by her side.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13- A Blessing or a Curse?, part 3

Christine tried everything she possibly could to make sure her voice sounded as good as possible. She did not want to disappoint the monstrous Erik again, not just because he was frightening, but also because her own sense of pride would not allow for failure.

She got out of bed and tried to keep a straight posture when possible. She put on a gown that wouldn't confine her torso. She drank from the pitcher of water that had been left on her nightstand and warmed up her voice with a few soft scales.

But when she tried to leave her bedroom, the door was locked.

Erik had locked her in her room.

"He can't be serious!" she fumed, yanking the door handle up and down, rattling the frame. It was useless. Frustrated, she pounded once on the door with a tiny scream of rage and then collapsed on the floor, tears spilling down her face. Why wouldn't all of this just be over?

_Mwah ha ha ha ha! _She heard the strange laughter in her head again. She tried to shake it out, loosening her hair in the process.

"I'm going insane," she muttered, "That's probably what all of this is. I'm locked up in a cell somewhere." The thought made her nauseous.

She stared across from her, at a blank part of the wall. For some reason, she felt that it was calling her. Maybe she really ought to be in an institution. Especially after what she did next.

She rose to her feet, brushed off her gown, and took a deep breath. Then she ran towards the wall like a bull in a bullfight, keeping her head lowered. She was either going to prove that this was all a horrible hallucination or she was going to erase this reality from her memory. Or be dead, but that didn't quite occur to the soprano.

Before she could make contact, the wall opened and a man stepped out. The shock of it caused Christine to stumble back and onto her rear. She moaned and rubbed her posterior, wondering why she had been about to do that to her head.

The intruder was tall, not as tall as Erik and certainly not as lanky. This man had a body that reflected years of physical training. He seemed to be foreign, Middle Eastern, she guessed and looked to be almost fifty.

"Mademoiselle Daae," he greeted, bowing.

Christine gasped. "You're that man Erik was talking to! What are you doing here? Didn't he threaten to kill you or something?"

"Yes, I am an old friend of Erik's. I am the Persian."

"The Persian? That's it? Don't you have a name? Wasn't it "Daroga" or something?"

"That is my title, Mademoiselle. My real name is Nadir Mohammed Barack Hussein Reza Carewe Ringo Atem Genghis Kahn-Darogason-Squarepants. No one calls me that, though."

"You don't say."

The Persian tiptoed over to the door and listened. Then he returned to Christine's side, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. She thanked him.

"Now, Mademoiselle, it is urgent that we leave."

Christine's eyes widened. "Leave? Why?"

"I overheard your argument yesterday. I don't think Erik would intentionally hurt you, but I fear for your life as well as your personal freedom."

"Erik would never hurt me. He loves me."

The Persian gave her a look that was both disparaging and pitying. "If I noticed, then someone as smart as Erik certainly noticed. You are not yourself, Mademoiselle Daae. You are a different person."

"H-how did you know?" Christine asked.

"I'm the Persian. I just somehow know everything."

Christine was relieved to know that someone else knew her secret. "My name _is _Christine Daae," she told him, "But I do not think I am this Erik's Christine Daae."

"Are you saying you're from a parallel universe or alternate reality or some such thing?"

"Based on my experiences, yes. I've been experiencing different versions of my story for the past week or so. Here, Erik is a walking skeleton who hates my voice, but elsewhere, Erik is a muscular man with a mild deformity and a gruffer voice who loves the way I sound. My Erik would never lock me in my room."

The Persian seemed to be shocked (and/or horrified) at the possibility of other versions of Erik. "So you are not made for this Erik but are somehow trapped in his Christine's body? If I hadn't spent nearly twenty years trailing a musically-gifted carnival freak, I would find this story unbelievable."

Christine shrugged and gave a half-hearted smile.

"But if Erik finds this out, you could be in trouble. I'm a plot device. I can help you out of the opera house and we can go to the Comte."

"I can't hurt Raulph again," Christine said, "And I can't hurt Erik. I think if I leave, he'll die. Besides, he might not exactly be my Erik, but he doesn't deserve to be abandoned. He scares me, but I know I'm strong enough for him and I'm the only one who understands him. He needs me. I'm sorry, the Persian, but I can't leave."

The Persian studied her for a few moments and then bowed. "You are a brave and foolish lady, strange Christine Daae. It is a shame that my suspicions are likely correct and we shall never meet again. I fear too much for my own life. I also wouldn't worry too much about this passage into your room." He stepped through the wall and pulled the hidden door shut. Christine could not even tell that there even was a door there. She felt for a seam, but the wallpaper was smooth. How was that possible?

Another door opened, this time the main one. Christine saw the imposing figure of her supposed husband standing there. At first she smiled, but then she realized he must have heard something. Oh criminy.

"What did you hear?" she asked boldly.

"The fool tried to persuade you to leave the opera house with him."

Christine's heart stopped racing so fast. That was all he had heard? He hadn't heard her confession about being from another reality?

"He seems like a very nice man. He was only worried about me." Her gaze fell to the flowered comforter on the bed.

She felt two bony arms around her waist squeezing the breath out of her.

"Erik?" she asked, puzzled.

"You said you wouldn't leave!" he said. She could tell he was crying. "You don't know how happy that makes me. Oh, Christine, I know I don't deserve you and that I treated you horribly, but despite that, you didn't leave when you had the chance!"

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's waist. It was like hugging a coat rack. "Of course I won't leave you. I love you."

They were silent for a while, both crying, just holding each other.

"Who names their child Ringo?" Erik asked finally.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day together, speaking tentatively, nervously playing music, and awkwardly exchanging embraces. Christine was mildly disturbed by his tendency to be overly apologetic whenever he felt he did the slightest thing to displease her. This was coming from a man who had thrown a piano and locked her in her room.

This reality would be far from easy. She missed not having to walk on eggshells around her Phantom. She couldn't wait to be back with a more sane version.

"Tomorrow we can resume music lessons, Christine. I promise I'll try to help you instead of breaking the piano. I spent all morning fixing it."

"I'm happy that it was salvageable. You still have the organ, though."

"Indeed." He went back to his newspaper and Christine went back to her knitting. She didn't remember learning how to knit. Erik had sheepishly given her a bunch of things that he thought a proper wife might like to have. This included a knitting kit and she didn't want to waste his gift.

"How's your knitting coming along?" Erik asked.

Christine held it up to the lamp light. "I think I've made an excellent… lumpy square."

"Oh, you're missing a step," he told her, taking the project from her with all the grace of a toddler. Yet his work was much smoother and more professional than hers. It was hypnotizing to watch his long fingers work with the needles, effortlessly forming long chains of loops.

Christine let out a frustrated sigh. "Perhaps you should be my Angel of Knitting." They both laughed. Christine pulled a chocolate out of the box he had given her as part of his proper wife package and continued to study his fingers. "Would you like a chocolate?" she asked him, holding out the box.

He looked at her strangely, his eyes having that way of expressing his every emotion, and timidly picked a piece out of the box. "Oh, pardon," he murmured, lifting his mask up just enough to show his lips. He ate the chocolate and quickly slid the mask back in place.

Christine smiled. "They're delicious. We should get more."

"They are delicious. Unfortunately, for this brand, we would have to travel to Switzerland." She sensed more shame in his voice.

"You don't have to apologize, Erik. I was just complimenting the gift. I'm sure local chocolate would be just as good. I don't even need the chocolate at all. You don't have to keep giving me things."

"You deserve more than I can possibly give you."

"Just love me," she told him, borrowing a line from Webber once again. Really, such a useful line. "Besides, now I feel like I should get _you_ a gift."

Erik held up the rather ragged part of the knitting project that she had started. "Practice more before you make it a knit gift."

Christine laughed but it turned into a yawn.

"Are you tired, my dear? You can go prepare for bed and I'll bring you some tea."

She felt the bed was too far. Besides, the way he reacted when she curled up beside him on the couch was priceless. The only thing that ruined her mood was thinking about where she would wake up in the morning.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14- The Way Life Should Be, Part 3

She was greeted in the morning by Mushy!Erik's smiling face.

"Once again, your eyes open to greet the beauty that is life!" he declared. Before she could do anything, her face was smothered in kisses.

"You seem much more sentimental than usual… dearest."

Erik sighed dreamily. Christine expected him to start dancing around the room the way her teenaged daughters had. "Oh, Angebelle! Today is the premiere! Everyone will hear my magnificent vision and hear your beautiful voice. Truly, this day will be second only to our wedding day."

Christine felt sick. She would have to perform all of _Oklahoma _with her garish dress and all of the ridiculous lyrics. And this Erik would be expecting her to do a good job.

* * *

"_O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A. Oklahoma!"_

The cast finished their sappy and triumphant finale song to the cheers and standing ovations of the audience. Christine heard shouts of "Bravo! Bravo!" After the whole group took their bows, she was called to the front of the stage, where she curtseyed politely and was showered with roses. She gritted her teeth. The performance had been hell. Nothing had gone wrong, but it irritated her that the supposed finest citizens of Paris were eating this up like street children who had been offered free gruel. Were there really nine more performances?

She was rushed off stage after the curtain closed by Madame Giry, who settled her in the Diva's dressing room before the throngs of admirers could even get out of their seats.

"It was a magnificent performance," Madame Giry complimented, "I am sure the composer was quite pleased."

What Christine saw next almost made her screech with fury. It was a dark, crimson-colored rose. That had been Erik's sign of affection for _her. _Or… _her. _But then she noticed that instead of a black, velvet ribbon, this rose was adorned with a sparkly pink one.

Well, she supposed that was different. Sort of.

Madame Giry left the room, squeezing past the flock of admirers and barricading the door to prevent them from bothering the diva.

Christine stared at her reflection. There was Angebelle's annoyingly, impossibly perfect little face. The skin was almost as white as the flouncy wedding dress she was wearing. How was that even possible? Did Angebelle have no blood? The thought gave her shivers.

"Mademoiselle du Croissant, you have influential visitors," said one of the men who had been put in charge of guarding her door. Christine sighed. She had practically grown up in the opera world. If wealthy patrons wanted to talk to you, you let them. Some of the other girls had different motivations, but for her it had always been a polite gesture. Tonight, however, she just felt weary.

"I will see them!" she called to the man.

Christine had been expecting a balding, flabby, old, lower-ranked nobleman. Instead, she saw two imposing figures in dark cloaks. The man's face was hidden by his hat, which he wore low and the woman's cape covered her face. They both wore elegant clothing, no doubt flaunting their wealth.

Christine rose and curtseyed to them. "I am pleased to meet you, Monsieur, Madame."

She heard a laugh that sounded cold and another that mimicked it, only sounding less icy and more… foppish?

The woman drew back her hood. Christine gasped.

It was _her. _Her body, at least.

"My, my," the Christine doppelganger said with a phony smile, "Look at the little bride."

"Look at the little bride," echoed the man behind her. The doppelganger's brow furrowed.

"Quit doing that, Raulph. Go entertain yourself while I chat with the girl."

The man, revealed to be Raulph de Changy, stuck out his bottom lip in a childish pout. The doppelganger picked up the Phantom's rose, studied it for a brief second, removed the ribbon, and dangled it in Raulph's face. She tossed it away and he ran to get it.

"Who are you?" Christinegebelle asked.

Doppelganger Christine smiled, a wicked smile this time. "I am the Comptess de Changy. That," she said, motioning to Raulph with a look of disgust, "Is my husband thing." Raulph was trying and failing to tie the ribbon into his hair.

"What happened to him?" Christinegebelle asked, shocked.

"He's always been like that," doppelganger Christine replied, "But don't mind him. We have some business."

"We do?" Christinegebelle asked, trying to think of a time Raulph had ever acted like that. Then again, everyone seemed to be a bit loony in this reality.

"We do, my dear. You see, recently I heard that the Opera Populaire was putting on a show by a Monsieur Ghostoux and that the great diva Marplotta was being replaced by an unknown young soprano."

Chritinegebelle paled. Or she would have if her skin hadn't been as white as possible without being albino. "So?"

"So? I'm sure some gossips here have told you about me? The low-born harlot who slept her way into the upper nobility of Paris by way of a spirit?"

"Those are awful rumors, Madame. I am very sorry."

The doppelganger laughed again. "Sorry? Don't be sorry. I thrive on rumors like that!"

"Pardon?"

"Ah, don't you know, my dear?" the Comptess said, "I'm a huge, total bitch. I like to play with men's emotions and hearts for fun. This one is so dumb that he lets me do whatever I like to him and spend his vast fortune any way I choose." She paused to see the horrified look on the young diva's face. "But I'm here to talk about Erik."

"Erik?" Christine was sure she was sweating every ounce of liquid out of her body in fear.

Doppelganger's face darkened. "Don't pretend to be naïve!" she snapped, "Your voice! Only the "Angel of Music" could teach you to sing like that." She studied her rival. "Aha! You _do _know what I'm talking about." Suddenly, the doppelganger grabbed Christine's wrists and pinned her to the stool upon which she sat.

"What are you doing?!"

"Shut up! Now listen to me, you little poser. Erik was my favorite project of all time. I knew he wasn't an angel when I started to grow boobs and well, a lady doesn't mention those kinds of things. I strung Erik along from the time I was thirteen. I planned to use his teachings to become rich and famous or to find myself a rich husband. My plan worked. The best part was pretending to love Erik. I drove him completely insane. He even killed people for my sake. Ah, good times. When I abandoned him, his face was priceless!" Doppleganger Christine began to cackle. Christinegebelle felt sick.

"That's horrible!" she cried, "What did Erik ever do to you?"

The doppelganger's face darkened even more and her grip tightened on Christinegebelle. "So you _do _love him. I thought so. I'll tell you something, you-"

They were interrupted by squeals of delight. Christinegebelle tried to peer over her doppelganger's enormous dress. Raulph had put on some of her lipstick.

"Hee hee hee!" he giggled, "Look, Christine! I'm so pretty!"

Doppelganger scowled. "That's nice, dear, but try not to catch any diseases from that crap." She turned back to Christine. "As I was saying, I will _not _have you ruin my project. I'm sure Erik's heart isn't too far-gone. I will win him back and leave him again and if _you _interfere, I shall send "my husband's" men after you and you will wish you had never been born, _Mademoiselle du Croissant."_

"You'll never get away with this!" Christine shouted, "I won't let you! I love him!"

"You little toad!"

"I love these shoes. They're shiny."

They heard a loud slam. In unison, they looked to the source of the sound. There, in the mirror entrance, stood Erik.

Christine was frightened. Surely Erik would protect her. On the other hand, her doppelganger was going to throw herself at him. Had Erik truly forgotten her? Either her?

Doppelganger stood up and smoothed the hair which had gotten mussed in the struggle. She put on a charming smile and Christinegebelle even noticed some crocodile tears forming in her eye. _That sneaky…_

"Oh, Erik!" the imposter sobbed, "I heard you had found another woman and it absolutely broke my heart! I've never gotten over you, my angel. I tried, but I could not. Oh, it was selfish of me to leave you. Please take me back, my love!"

Christinegebelle thought that millennia passed after the little speech. She glanced at Raulph to see if he would object to his wife coming on to her ex lover, but he was too busy with Angebelle's powder puff and rouge.

She turned back to Erik. He stood frozen, staring at the woman he had loved so much, a number of emotions crossing his masked face. She began to fear the worst.

"No, Christine. I can't accept your love. You're a complete bitch and it took until I met someone who could look past my face to realize it. I will not allow you to play with my heart and I will not allow you to harm my Angebelle." He walked over to the stool where Christinegebelle sat and put an arm around her tiny shoulders. "Now, _Madame de Changy, _I suggest you leave."

Doppelganger's mouth was opening and closing rapidly. She obviously could not believe that she had been rejected.

"You will regret this!" she shouted, "You will never be accepted by society, you ugly freak! Neither will you, Erik!"

"Er, am I interrupting something?" One of the guards had poked his head into the room.

"No, no you aren't!" Doppelganger shouted. The guard flinched.

"W-well, it seems that a filthy hobo somehow got past all of our guards and security systems. Would you like to see him, too, Mademoiselle du Croissant?"

"Ugh, _fine," _Christinegebelle grumbled.

A man who looked old but was probably younger than fifty entered the room. He was dressed in rags and had a scraggly beard.

"A-ha!" he said, looking right at Christinegebelle.

"Now what?" she muttered.

"I saw your name on a promotional poster, you little bitch. You are _my _property and you are coming home with _me!" _The man tried to pull Christinegebelle up by the elbow. She shrieked.

"Claude?"

This seemed to enrage the man, who acted as if there weren't two nobles and a man twice his size in the room. "You will address me as "Papa." Until we are married, that is." He tried dragging his stepdaughter again.

"I'll never marry you!" Christinegebelle screeched. Doppelganger and Raulph were just gawking at them. Well, Raulph seemed to be more transfixed by the floral pattern on the wallpaper.

Erik grabbed onto Christinegebelle's waist and tried to haul her back, but Claude was strong. "Let her go, you old degenerate!" Erik yelled. He let go of his lover and made to attack Claude.

Just then, a crutch came down hard on the filthy man's head. The man sank to the floor, injured but still conscious.

Christine looked at her rescuer. It was a tall young man with ratty clothes and a hat that barely covered his wild, crimson hair.

"Sparkle!" he said when he saw her. Christine winced at the name. The young gave her a rib-crushing hug. "Oh, Sparkle. I, too, saw your name on the poster for _Oklahoma. _It made me so happy to see that you were living your dream."

Christine was puzzled. "Who are you- Oh, right. I have a brother. Why the hell not?" She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Claude leapt to his feet. "I'll kill you, boy!" he yelled. Christine tried to pull her "brother" back. He only had one good foot and was in no condition to fight. Erik stepped forward to block them from Claude's attacks.

"You're dirty," someone behind him said. Claude turned.

"What?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Only clean people are allowed to be in the same room as me," Raulph de Changy said. He sprayed a bottle of perfume in Claude's eyes. Claude yelled.

For some reason, _that _got the attention of the guards.

Christine regained her composure. "That man tried to assault me," she said, pointing to Claude, "The Vicompt and the other gentlemen restrained him." The guards marched in and carried the thrashing Claude away.

Erik turned to the doppelganger. "Now leave and take your mentally inept husband with you," he demanded. The doppelganger sulked, but grabbed Raulph by the collar and dragged him out of the room.

Christine collapsed onto the stool, exhausted.

"So you are Angebelle's brother?" Erik asked, extending a hand. Javier shook it.

"The little rascal is going by "Angebelle" now?" he asked, laughing. "Yes, I am. Who are you?"

"I am her fiancé, Erik Ghostoux."

Javier's eyes widened. "The composer of _Oklahoma?" _

"Yup."

"Oh, sir. It's an honor to meet you. You see, my sister and I used to dream about going to Oklahoma when we were little, ever since our mother taught us the famous song about it."

"I used parts of the song in the opera."

"I am so glad that my sister is engaged to a man like you," Javier said.

"And I am glad that my dear Angebelle has such a wonderful, caring, upright brother," Erik gushed. They hugged.

Christine yawned in an attempt to cover her dry heave. "I'm going to bed," she told them.

"Oh, did you want to see the lovely underground cavern that we call home? I just got new curtains. The old ones were full of glass shards."

"I'd love to," said Javier.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15- Every Woman's Dream, part 3

Christine decided to get up without grumbling the next day so that she could face whatever ridiculous obstacles each timeline threw at her and just get them over with already.

What she didn't expect was to find herself lying in the most beautiful garden she had ever seen. She was surrounded by tall hedges that shaded her face from the fading sunlight. It was early evening by the looks of it.

Christine sat up and tried to figure out where she was. She was in some kind of hedge maze, by the looks of it, and a very pretty one. Where she had been resting, there was a small fountain with a sculpture of two maidens pouring water. On the edges of the path were shrubs bursting with bright spring flowers. The aroma was heavenly. But why was she here and why had she been lying on the ground?

She heard someone approach her but on the other side of the hedge wall. No, it was two someones. They were chatting nervously. Christine could tell that it was a man and a woman, more likely a boy and a girl. She smiled, picturing the young couple.

Then she heard them more clearly.

"Hubert, hush!" the girl said.

"There is no one else in this garden. They're all at the party," he replied.

"No," the girl hissed, "We can't be discovered. We _can't."_

Christine recognized the voices. It was her own daughter and the de Changy heir. What were they doing in a place like this?

"They won't miss you, will they?" Hubert asked.

"No. I wasn't even supposed to be here, but mother thought I should attend my sister's wedding and father hasn't let me out of his sight since the first time we met. They made me listen to the ceremony from one of the chapels and even put me in a habit and veil in case anyone saw me."

"A nun, eh? I feel like Casanova."

Christine heard a giggle and a playful slap. "Be serious, Hubert! My father would wring your neck if he heard you say something like that."

"I don't doubt it. So did you truly mean what you wrote in that letter?"

Christine had a funny feeling. This scene seemed familiar. Was this the plot of an opera?

"Yes. We're running away."

Christine gasped.

"Did you hear someone gasp?" June asked.

"No," said Hubert. "Look, I love you, but I don't think running away is a very good idea. I'm the heir to a prestigious household and… I'm terrified of your father."

The young lovebirds sighed.

"It seems hopeless," Hubert said.

"I can't stand the thought of not being able to marry you. You're the only one who has ever looked past my face."

"And you're the only one who has ever looked past my money. I've never met a woman like you."

They were quiet for what seemed an eternity to Christine. Then she heard June begin to hum.

"Did you write a new song?" Hubert asked.

"Yes. It's about us. It's based on the letter."

"Sing it for me, please."

June cleared her throat. _"Dear my love, haven't you wanted to be with me and dear my love, haven't you longed to be free? I can't keep pretending that I don't even know you and at sweet night, you are my own…"_

Christine listened to the entirety of the song. June sang softly, but she still wondered why she would sing in a public garden if she didn't want to be caught.

"Oh, June," Hubert said, "I can't live without your voice. Let's do this. Let's leave tonight!"

June let out a happy little squeal. "The party will go on until nine this evening. When everyone is bidding farewell to my sister and her husband, we will take your carriage to someplace where we can hide."

"I never thought I'd be doing something like this."

"Neither did I." June laughed nervously. "Hubert," she asked after a while, "Will you kiss me?"

"Y-yes," the boy stuttered.

* * *

Christine made her way out of the garden and to the little hall where the wedding celebration was being held. She heard loud music and laughter.

"Oh, there's Mama!" Girianne called. The young woman was wearing an elegant lavender gown. Christine looked down at her own garments. She was indeed dressed for a wedding.

Erik appeared in the doorway next to his daughter.

"Ah, I was getting worried. Did you check on June?"

Was that what she had been doing? Why had she been asleep?

"Yes, she is doing well."

"We're terribly sorry that we had to keep her shut up in the coat room, Mama. I know how much her coming to the wedding meant to you."

Christine rubbed the back of her neck, which had begun to hurt from her nap and straining to listen to the rendezvous of her youngest child.

"That's all right. She understands."

"Oh, but the song she wrote was just lovely! Your voice is as angelic as ever."

"Indeed, you still sound like the girl who was ready to astound everyone at her debut," Erik said. Christine smiled and kissed his cheek. Erik was being so calm and affectionate right now. What would he do when he found out about June? Should she tell him? Surely it was her duty as a wife and mother to protect her daughter and obey her husband, but she felt torn. She had been in this situation only weeks before (her time). What right did she have to prevent her daughter from doing this? She would be a hypocrite! Still, she feared what Erik would do to the Changy boy if the young couple was found and she didn't doubt that Erik would be able to track them down.

She looked around for a clock and saw none. She looked at Erik.

"Do you have the time, my love?"

Her husband smiled at her and pulled out his pocket watch. "Twenty past six," he told her.

Just over two hours. What should she do?

* * *

Christine looked around the wedding hall. How had Erik gotten so wealthy? They had an enormous home and many servants on a composer's salary. Were any of his works famous? She wanted to hear some.

As if reality was synched to her mind, Erik stood and got the crowd's attention by tapping his glass.

"Everyone," he said, "The reception is almost over. I am truly glad that all of you could come here to celebrate the wedding of Jacques and my wonderful daughter Angelle, our little angel." He paused to dab and his eyes with a handkerchief. "I hope that we have all made this the happiest day of their lives."

Christine saw Angelle in her beautiful wedding gown rush over to her father and hug him. It would have been beautiful if Christine had ever gotten the chance to form emotional connections to these people.

"So," Erik continued once Angelle had taken her seat again, "I have prepared a final musical number. It is a song I wrote for my beautiful wife many years ago and one of the most romantic pieces I have ever written." People murmured and applauded. "Christine?" Erik asked, "Will you sing with me?"

Christine looked around. Everyone was cheering for her and Angelle was weeping with joy. Erik held out his hand expectantly. "Christine?"

What could she do? She had never heard any of his compositions! Everyone was expecting a romantic, motherly gesture and she was about to ruin her daughter's wedding.

She took Erik's hand. She supposed she could make up something or start blubbering and faint like a normal Victorian woman.

Erik led her to the small stage and signaled the pianist. Her husband's smile was heart-melting and he took her hands in his and took a few tearful breaths in preparation. Perhaps _he _would be fainting like a Victorian woman. Christine tried to give him a reassuring smile. She felt her hands being squeezed as the music began.

Wait. It couldn't be.

"For our daughter?" she whispered. Erik nodded enthusiastically.

Christine took a breath and counted off her intro.

"_N-no thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart but dreams of love," _she sang. She knew her voice was cracking but the wedding guests were beaming and cooing with approval.

"_You have come here," _Erik sang. Christine heard his sultry baritone and wanted to crawl into a hole. Was he seriously singing this song at a _wedding? _His _daughter's _wedding?

When his verse ended, she hissed, "Erik! This song is about a Spanish playboy seducing a Gypsy!"

"But it's so romantic," he whispered back.

The familiar (much too familiar) lyrics were on Christine's tongue, but she couldn't sing them. She couldn't sing about sleeping buds and quenching the fires.

She tried to think of the rest of the opera, for surely there was more to it. She had, up until very recently, been rehearsing it daily, after all. She recalled a barely-rehearsed and never-performed scene where Aminta, her character, sang a duet with a childhood friend, a young Gypsy man who was in love with Aminta but did not win her. The song was about the innocence of love and fleeting youth, but it was a hopeful and sincere song. She just hoped Jacques wouldn't feel insulted if she compared him to a boy who winds up stabbed by tavern brawlers, run over by horses, and then robbed by prostitutes.

She cleared her throat. The song began with Aminta wishing her friend goodnight before he pulled her into a final round of sentimental verses. _"Good night, my dear, as the day has grown long. Hear day birds too tired to carry on their song. If the night doesn't take you, long may it be 'til your eyes once more have their fill of me."_

This was the part of the song where the gypsy boy was supposed to plead for her to stay longer in a reverse _Romeo and Juliet _way.

Instead, Erik was gaping at her.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm singing a song more appropriate for a wedding. I don't want to sing to my just-married daughter about perverted Spanish men trying to seduce women."

She barely noticed the guests' stares, for the visible part of Erik's face was starting to turn red.

"I chose the most romantic song from _Don Juan Triumphant _and I want to sing it to my daughter. I want her to have the kind of love that _we _share."

"It's a song about a man who sleeps with a girl because it's just a game to him!" Christine said.

She heard a sob.

"Mama, Papa, I don't care what you sing. Just please stop shouting at my wedding!" Angelle began to sob harder.

Jacques stood up. "I agree with my wife," he said. He wrapped his arms around the bride. "Both songs are lovely. Just pick one."

"It doesn't matter," Erik said. He stepped off the stage. Christine followed him back to their table. He looked somewhat furious. Oh God, he was going to explode if he found out about June! She looked at the clock, which began to chime. Nine!

"We have to leave for Venice!" Angelle shrieked happily, suddenly over her parents' argument. The guests exploded with merriment, rising at once and rushing like a herd of cattle to the doors to be the first to see off the happy couple.

Christine felt her hands being grabbed. Erik and Girianne were pulling her to the front of the crowd. They reached the area where all of the carriages waited. The bride and groom's was a large, elaborate, white carriage with white horses. It stood out among the others. Christine tried to guess which one belonged to the young Vicompt, but it was useless. There were so many covered, black ones with no markings.

She could barely concentrate on showering the couple with rice. Jacques and Angelle raced past their friends and family. As the bride hugged those dearest to her, everyone noticed a large and regal carriage being pulled by fine, white horses approach. It sported an all-too-familiar crest.

It pulled up on the carriage path and an elegantly-dressed middle-aged man stepped out.

"So there is a wedding here tonight," he said. He glanced at the surprised guests. "I'm sorry for disturbing your festivities, but- Christine?"

"Raulph!" she exclaimed.

He had aged well. His once long, golden hair was now short and graying. His figure was well-built and his finely-tailored clothing aided in the impression. Raulph had an aura of power.

But so did someone else.

"What are _you _doing here?!" Erik shouted. He was a few inches taller than the Compt and certainly capable of looming over him, but Raulph seemed to retain the stance that said he could beat the Phantom in a swordfight any day.

"You," he sneered. He no longer had any fear.

Christine stepped forward to stop their imminent fight, but a woman climbed out of the carriage and stood in front of Raulph.

"Sir, we have only come to inquire about this." She pulled a crinkled piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Erik. "Our son has gone missing. Our maid found this in his room."

Erik looked at it and muttered the words to himself.

"Dear My Hubert, haven't you wanted to be with me… they're holding my sister's wedding at the Rose Hall… let's run away… with all my love, your June. Dear God! This is her handwriting!"

"_You _are this girl's father?" Raulph asked, "No wonder. Little hussy."

"Raulph, she is my daughter, too!" Christine said, holding Erik back to the best of her ability.

"_Your _horny little son is pursuing _my _little angel!" Erik roared.

"Who wrote the damned letter?"

"Why do you have to do this at my wedding?"

"Enough!" the Comptess de Changy shouted. Everyone stared. The woman was loud even though she was considerably shorter than Christine. "Yelling will not resolve this problem. You are two grown men, not some little boys playing swordfight." Christine stifled a "No, actually, they always acted like that" cough.

"We're the parents of two runaway teenagers," the Compress continued, "Now let's just find them before they do something foolish."

The men grunted.

"Now," the Comptess said, turning to Angelle, "We seem to have spoiled this young couple's send-off. Please excuse us."

"Go ahead, you two," Erik said to his daughter and new son-in-law.

"But what about June?" the bride asked.

"We will find her," Christine said, "Have a happy honeymoon." Angelle kissed her parents and accepted Jacques's help into the carriage. The crowd cheered and waved.

Erik pulled his wife, second daughter, and the Changys aside.

"They're probably in this group. You'd think it would be easy to spot a nun."

"Well that's what you get for booking the Abbey choir, Papa," Girianne sighed. Christine took the girls arm and silently warned her not to antagonize her father.

The guests started to clear out, merrily climbing into carriages and kissing each other goodbye. Some were trying to overcome the sensation of alcohol. Christine scanned the crowd, looking for a nun and a blond boy. She wished she could tell Erik what she had learned without sending him into a rage.

"There!" the Comptess said, "Those two nuns aren't with the others." Erik and Raulph ran towards the pair and caught them before they could escape into their waiting carriage. Erik yanked the veil off of the taller one. It was indeed Hubert de Changy.

"Boy, why are you wearing a habit?" Raulph snapped. The young Vicompt looked sheepish.

"We could hear you arguing. Besides, we thought it would look suspicious for a young man to be sneaking away with a nun." Christine noticed Raulph's eye twitch.

"We're going home!" he said, yanking his son from Erik.

"As are we!" Erik said, pulling on his daughter's arm.

"No! I won't leave her!" the Vicompt shouted. His father was too strong for him.

"I can't leave him!" June cried, trying desperately to pull away from her father.

"Christine, Girianne, let's go," Erik ordered.

"Come, Aurore," Raulph said.

Christine paused. She had no doubt that Erik's daughter would somehow figure out a way to see her beau again. Besides, this was quite unfair. Erik was doing to June what he had tried to do to _her._

"We can't just leave like this," she stated. Everyone turned to look at her.

Erik looked extremely cranky. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Doesn't this situation seem familiar to you?" Christine asked, looking at both Erik and Raulph.

"No," they said.

"Really?" she mused, "Young Vicompt, young singer, torn apart…"

"Is that an opera?" Raulph asked.

"No, dummy, it sounds like a mediocre tavern show at best," Erik snapped.

Christine felt like banging her head on a wall again. Then perhaps she could wake up somewhere else.

"No!" she said, "It's what happened to _us. _And you're forcing it onto your children!"

Aurore de Changy stepped forward. "I agree with her. It's almost the twentieth century. We can't treat the children like Shakespeare characters. They should be allowed to court whomever they wish."

"But Aurore, she is not a noble," Raulph said.

Christine scoffed. "That didn't seem to matter when you wanted to marry _me." _She tried to ignore the memory of Evil!Raulph.

"Besides," added Aurore, "This is a pretty elaborate wedding from the looks of it. They must be loaded. I don't see how anyone can possibly object to this."

"You have a point," said Raulph.

They all went back into the hall to chat and ignore past character tension and June's face.

Erik pulled Christine aside. "I'm sorry," he told her, "You were right." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "I can see why I fought so hard for you." Christine smiled and pulled him into an embrace.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16- P.S. I Stalk You, part 3

They had gotten home and immediately fallen asleep. It had been a long conversation, but it was agreed that June could be formally courted by Hubert so long as a parent or highly-ranked servant was with them at all times.

Christine wondered if she would wake up with grandchildren the next time. As for this day, she was back in New York and this time she was alone. It was a bit disappointing, really. Meg had been someone she could rust and talk to despite her belief that Christine was a psychotic drunk. It was really lonely knowing that this world's Erik hated her. And for what?

She made sure to check all of the contact devices Meg had shown her. She checked the date on her own portable phone device. It was Saturday, the night of the first performance. So time had decided to start conveniently skipping here, too.

She dressed in a hurry and set off for the Popera for the morning dress rehearsal. She felt odd for feeling so excited about the show. It was eerie and a bit inaccurate, but it was so familiar. For her, the songs were effortless and singing 'Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" felt very therapeutic. It was also simply nice to be able to sing and to be applauded for it.

"Meg," she said as the two warmed up, "Do you think it's odd that we're named Meg and Christine and playing characters named Meg and Christine?"

Meg frowned as she thought about it for a moment. Then her eyes lit up. "Hey, you're right! Wow, I totally didn't notice that!"

"Huh," was all that Christine could say in response. She decided not to bring up last names or professions or love interests.

The rehearsals went smoothly and all of the special effects were working properly. Naturally, to the superstitious theatre crowd, this was terrible.

"Oh God, oh God! The chandelier is actually going to kill someone!" wailed Mr. Foreshadow, the technical director.

"It will not," retorted Red Herring, who was playing Andre.

* * *

The show that night went very well and the chandelier did not break. No one lost their voice and no props went missing.

The standing ovation was long. Christine and the male leads took their bows after the others.

"You were fantástica," Miguel told her when the curtain finally closed.

"Merci," she laughed. She shared hugs and kisses with the rest of the caset and went to her dressing room. Meg passed her.

"Hey, Chris! I saw Raulph Dechaney with a huge, _huge _bouquet." She did that strange eyebrow wiggling thing that made Christine feel uncomfortable.

She was barely settled and in normal clothes when she heard a knock.

"Ms. Daae, you have a visitor," one of the security guards called through the thick door.

Christine froze. Was it another doppelganger? But it couldn't be. _She _was Christine. It was probably Raulph, then. She wondered how she could kindly let him down.

"Ms. Daae?"

"Oh, sure. Let them in!" she called.

To her surprise, it was not Raulph, but Erik, holding a single, red rose.

"Erik!" she exclaimed.

He waved nervously. "Hello. I came to see your show and to apologize. I couldn't get a very good seat, though. I was in the back of the mezzanine."

"You didn't have to come on opening night."

"Well… damn it. You're right. Damn scalper cost me more than my rent. Anyway, I feel like an idiot," Erik said, "For the first time a woman looked at me with affection and I rejected her because of where she works."

Christine walked over to him and took the rose. "What's wrong with the Popera anyway?" she asked. Erik winced as she said the name.

"It's… well, the name for one thing. _Popera. _It represents everything wrong with music these days. It's a dying art. These days people care less and less about good music and more and more about gaudy spectacles and shows based on movies. I've been writing my opera for sex years but I know that no one will be interested in it. If people go to opera, they want the classics. Maybe if I set it in post-war New York and add in terrible pop songs like everyone else does."

"I'd sing your opera," Christine said.

Erik smiled. "That's very kind, Christine, but you're not an opera singer. I heard you sing tonight. Your voice is lovely, but you're suited to shows like Phantom. And I've come to realize that maybe that's not such a bad thing."

Christine was torn between feeling offended and being astounded that he had apologized to her.

"You're a bit of an elitist, but it was nice of you to come. Thank you for the flower. Roses are my favorite."

"Well, it's the classic. Say, would you like to go out or do you have some kind of cast party to attend?"

She wondered if cast parties were the drunken, lascivious affairs they were in her time.

"I hate cast parties," she said, grabbing her coat and taking Erik's arm.

* * *

They ate in a French restaurant. Erik was a bit embarrassed at the price of the food, but Christine knew from the bank record she had found that she had the means to pay.

"People will think I'm dating you for your money," Erik scoffed in a light-hearted manner.

They laughed at the joke but afterwards it was eerily silent at the table. Their drinks came, their food came, and their plates were taken without so much as a word.

Finally Erik spoke.

"I think we need to straighten things out."

"How do you mean?"

"Christine," he sighed, "I'm a logical person. I'm an amateur magician and I know that every trick has some sort of logical process behind it. You don't. Youknewall these things about me, even… what I look like and I can't figure out why. It's driving me crazy."

"I used to believe in magic and angels and things like that," Christine said. She played with her fancy coffee cup to avoid looking him in the eyes. "But life has shown me that it isn't real. Except for the part where it is."

"You mean that life in general is magical?" Erik asked, "That's really pretty. I wish I could see the world like that. Unfortunately, I have facial deformities."

"No, it's just…" There was no way she could tell him she was cursed. It was likely he wouldn't buy it. "I don't know how I cam to know you either. I just saw you and I saw a life we never had."

"You mean like past lives?"

"I know, I know. It's crazy," Christine sighed, covering her eyes in embarrassment.

Erik pried her hand off of her face. "It's not that crazy. I was thinking you were some kind of magical soul mate or something, but I like the idea of being destined for one another for eternity. I could write a great opera about that."

Christine decided to press her luck.

"You know _The Phantom of the Opera?"_

"Yes. I just saw it. Or heard it, anyway."

"This is going to sound crazy, crazier than having past lives, but I think that I am Christine reborn. And I think you are my Phantom."

Erik looked puzzled. "How do you figure?"

Christine balked. "Are you… Christine, Erik. Singer, composer. Me, you. That can't be a coincidence."

"Christine, you do know that the musical is loosely based on a book, don't you?"

"It is?"

Erik buried his face in his palm. "Yes. Lots of operas and musicals are. Now, in the Phantom novel, the Erik character is a psychopathic monster and Christine marries the Vicomte. That last bit happens in the musical, too. So if you're "Christine," you should be looking for you Raoul, not me."

Again with the accusations of loving Raulph. Could _no one _see how ridiculous that was?

"The ending is wrong!" Christine said a bit too loudly. Erik was so startled that he spat out his coffee. Once he stopped choking, he simply stared at her. "It's wrong!" she said again, "Erik was the one who loved her, who _needed _her. How could she be so blind as to ignore that?!"

Erik set down his cup, no longer interested in the beverage, and wiped his mouth. "Christine," he said firmly, "Calm down. They're fictional characters and the ending isn't wrong."

"What?!" she asked, "B-but you… you have a mask, too."

"So?" he laughed, "Does being like this mean I deserve the sympathy and body of every woman I meet? Even if I fall in love, should I expect her to ignore all my faults because I'm such a poor, ugly, unloved man?

"Christine is a person, not a doll. If she loves Erik despite what he's done, fine. If she's terrified of him and wants to get the hell away, no one can tell her to stay. Don't you think she can make up her own mind?"

Christine considered this. Finally, she smiled and clasped his hand in her own.

"Yes, I do."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17- A Sorceress, an Angel, and an Ending

Christine was aware of a strange feeling, a feeling that she was being suspended in some sort of hammock, but she couldn't feel any fabric underneath her. It was also impossible to see. It was at once to bright and too dark. She could not move her body.

"Help! Help me!" she shouted. "Am I dead? Someone! Is there anyone else here? Erik!"

"Erik is not here."

Christine tried to see where the voice was coming from, but she could not move her neck and it was very painful to open her eyes. The voice sounded both sweet and threatening. And familiar.

"You're the voice from my dreams!" Christine shouted

"No need to shout, Christine Daae. I am right here."

As the light adjusted to a level that made it easier to see, before the young singer appeared a beautiful woman in a cloud of pink vapor.

Beautiful was probably not the right word. Christine supposed that the woman was pretty in a way, but she looked more ridiculous than Angebelle had when she had dared to look at herself in a mirror.

This creature had similar fiery, crimson hair, but three was no way a human being could be born with that color. It shone with its own impossible light source. The eyes were equally impossible. They were purple, gold, deep blue, shining brown, black, green, and red. They were also impossibly large. To keep this short, everything about her was impossible, from her disproportionate breasts to her delicate little feet.

"Do you remember, Christine Daae?"

Christine grimaced, unable to move her body and get away from the thing. "I think I would remember someone like you, but I've heard your voice. It was before all this started, back when I was with _my _Erik."

"_Your _Erik? Phool, damnable whore! You do not know me. I am Maria Susana, Phourteenth-level Sorceress of Hell, and Erik is _mine."_

The name brought back Christine's memory.

"You! When I was seven… the night before I met Erik… You promised to help me! What did you do?"

Maria Susana's laugh was somehow like a serpent's _and _an infant's.

"I see I will have to explain my ridiculous back story. Here, let me get my back story chair. This could take a while." With a wave of her hands, an enormous throne-like chair covered in carvings of screeching demons doused in pink glitter appeared. The sorceress sat and cleared her throat. "I have always been in love with Erik, you see, ever since I was born, back in November of 2004. I'm a demon. We're attracted to pain and suphering and I found it astonishing that humans could breed such attractive qualities in their own kind. He was the love oph my un-liphe and I was determined to have him phor my own. It was perphect: Erik was lepht heart-broken and I could consume what was lepht of his soul.

"But then _you _happened. You see, phans prepher you to be with the Phantom. Seeing you take my Erik away phrom me time aphter time was humiliating and unbearable. I had to interphere. So I placed a curse on you when you were young and impressionable… well, more than you are in the rest of the story. You thought I was going to help you phind true love. In reality, I sent you through phive dipherent tortures in an attempt to make you hate and despise Erik and want to leave him. The part with Raulph was just phor phun. Oh, your phace.

"But my plan started to phail. No matter which demented situations and plots I threw you into, you were determined to phix them! You made all of the Eriks phall phor you. In the last reality, you didn't even meet the Erik I set up phor you. You somehow made your own! He wasn't even anything like Erik!"

"Yes he was," Christine finally spoke.

"No! In phuture phic-"

"Can you stop pronouncing all the F's with Ph's? It's damn annoying."

"Fine. In future fic, Erik is wealthy and gorgeous with women falling all over him and he's just too humble because of his deformity to notice."

"So he's Raulph with a mask?"

This seemed to drive Maria Susana over the edge. "NO! Erik is not Raulph! Raulph is an evil fop! Erik is the most wonderful man in existence with perfect blue-green-silver-golden orbs and he shall be mine!"

Christine felt a surge of energy flow through her. On a hunch, she leapt up and brought her face right up to Maria's crazily pretty one.

"That's it!" she said, "You've pulled me out of my life, turned my childhood friend into a monster, screwed with my head, and worst of all, tried to separate me from my love! I'm going to kick your demon ass!" She pulled her fist back and sent it flying into Maria's perfect little nose.

Maria flew back, laughing evilly yet still holding her nose. "You can't be dumb enough to think you can beat a demon. Not with the pitiful fighting knowledge of a Victorian-era girl." Suddenly Maria's form began to change. Her eyes began to glow a more steady red and little black horns grew out of her hair. Most frightening, though, were the large, feathery black wings that grew out of her back.

Christine gulped down her fear. Maria Susana _could not _win. "Then you are being unfair. How could you crush such a weak opponent?"

Maria stared blankly. "I'm hellspawn."

The would-be doomed soprano felt around in her pocket for something. Yes! It was there now! She pulled out a plain and worn old rosary.

"That won't help you here," Maria scoffed.

"God's eyes are everywhere," Christine said.

"Not on the internet. Have you _seen _Bible fan fiction?"

Christine put the rosary back into her pocket and thought, ignoring the demon's intense glare.

"I know. We'll simply ask Erik which of us he loves. Let's show him the compassionate way of dealing with a love triangle. Hopefully there will be less strangulation."

"Very well. If you think you can compete with one of the most powerful demon sorceresses to ever exist, then by all means, try." Maria waved her hands and the void began to vanish, revealing Erik's lair, the way Christine remembered it.

She yelped when she felt the cold water pool around her up to her knees. Maria smirked at her, obviously immune to the icy lake.

"You couldn't have transported us to shore?"

"And miss the chance to show you up in your _lovely _muck-covered gown?"

Christine watched in horror as Maria began to change shape once again. Only instead of becoming the too-lovely human form from before, she began to change into _her. _Christine was now staring at a mirror image, only tidied up and with a dress that floated on the surface of the lake like a flower instead of clinging to her legs like rags.

"That's cheating!" Christine said. Maria just continued to smirk.

"What? Do you think your dear Erik will fall for the prettier girl? He does seem to have a thing for beauty. So what are you waiting for? Call him."

Christine didn't want to play this game, not when it was rigged against her, but she was eager to end all of this. So she called to him.

"Christine?" Erik called back. He walked out to the main part of the lair, thankfully without breaking the mirrors to do so. It _was _her Erik! "Chris-" He paused mid-stride and mid-sentence, eyes flickering back and forth between the two women.

Maria didn't miss a beat. "Oh, Erik!" she said in Christine's voice, "I don't know what is going on, but this girl is claiming to be me and she wants to steal you away from me!" Even the fake crying was perfect. Christine's eyes narrowed.

"Don't listen to her! I am Christine, the real Christine!"

Erik stared back and forth, trying to process something.

Finally, he nodded. "Sing, my angels."

Oh, what was she supposed to sing that could prove that she was the real one?

Before she could act or even think of a lyric, Maria began her song. To Christine's horror, it sounded exactly right. _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you'll want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go, too. Erik, that's all I ask of you."_

Christine's jaw dropped. Erik and Maria turned to her expectantly. She could not fail. But what could she sing? Maria had stolen the song she had used before.

She hung her head. "It's obvious that you'll fall for her," she said, "But Erik, _think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me once in a while; please promise me you'll try…"_

She poured her soul into the aria, hoping it would somehow get through to Erik.

The man stepped into the water. Both of the Christine's breaths were hitched as he walked closer and closer. Eventually, he took one of the Christine's hands and the real Christine was surprised to find that they were hers. She looked up at her Phantom with teary eyes.

"Erik," she breathed.

Their moment was short-lived.

"No!" screeched Maria Susana. "I am the one you should love!"

Erik turned to the furious girl. "A teacher always knows his work when he hears it. Besides, I can totally see through your disguise, freaky fallen angel thing."

"What?!" Maria shrieked.

"That's a side effect that comes from having your eyes described as "orbs,"" Erik said, "It gives you magical eyesight."

Maria's eyes were blazing and she lifted her hands in a menacing fashion.

"Crap," Erik said. He moved to shield Christine from the demon's power. Maria paused, unwilling to strike down the object of her obsession, but she had clearly made up her mind when Christine saw her raise her hand.

"Erik!" the soprano shrieked. She grabbed Erik's head and pulled him into a kiss. She was sure his neck would be very sore, but she didn't care.

They heard a screech of pain from Maria Susana. "No!" she wailed, clutching her sides. "Not canon!" Her form began to dissolve.

"Quick, kiss me again!" Erik said.

Christine had never gotten a more appealing command or wielded a more delightful weapon. Maria Susana faded completely away until all that was left was a soft whimper and then nothing. Erik and Christine failed to notice.

* * *

A few days later, Christine was sitting in the library (which she could access by way of a door) with a novel. She was relishing the idea of waking up in the same place and time every day in the home of the man she loved. He was always there when she called and usually they couldn't bear to be away from one another.

It was no surprise then that Erik stepped into the room and sat next to her on the small couch. Christine set the book on the table and leaned forward. Erik complied and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. She sighed happily as she opened her eyes only to be met with his.

"Can you imagine every day being this wonderful?" Erik asked her.

Christine lay back, allowing her head to dangle off the back of the couch and her feet to flop in a rather graceless position in front of her. "Yes."

"No, I mean it. Look."

Christine looked and gasped when she saw a beautiful diamond ring in his hand. It was so beautiful, as if it had been made for a fairy.

"Erik," she murmured, "I would love to become Mrs. …"

"Daae."

She stared at him in surprise.

"I had a family name once, long ago," he said, answering her unasked question, "But those people weren't my family. I am in need of a family name. Will you lend me yours?"

Christine grinned, slid the ring onto her finger and gave him a long kiss. She was with _her _Erik now and she knew that whatever happened to them, be it failing operas or rebellious children, she would have Erik and he would have her. She couldn't wait to start her _real _future.

_The End_


End file.
